


Entropy

by Felgia_Starr



Series: DFW 2020 Challenge [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 2020 is hell, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Coronavirus, Drunk Sex, Everyone Has Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Prompt Fic, Protests, Quarantine, Racism, Sad Hermione Granger, Secrets, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, because i know lol, please don't say this is unrealistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25376002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felgia_Starr/pseuds/Felgia_Starr
Summary: Hermione Granger is a guilt-ridden activist whose mental health continues to debilitate the longer she finds herself stuck in a hotel suite, thousands of miles away from home, for the entire duration of the global lockdown. She shares the hotel suite with an aloof blond man named Draco Malfoy and his four-year-old son, Scorpius. Both of whom she hasn't shared more than a passing greeting with. Nearing emotional breakdown whilst having no one around to talk to, she frequently turns to online shopping as a way to distract herself from the matters of the world.This all changes, however, when Draco stumbles upon Hermione bawling over dinner and suddenly becomes a person she can talk to. Will Hermione find other ways to deal with her guilt now that Draco is near? Will they become friends or something more?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: DFW 2020 Challenge [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666876
Comments: 13
Kudos: 32





	1. I AM BECOME DEATH

* * *

The worst part about being stuck in a quarantine hotel located on a country that’s so far away from home for the entire duration of the global lockdown is, Hermione is completely and utterly alone. Sure, she’s forced to share the suite with another person and his son—because it seems like this particular hotel is the only one available for stuck tourists in the entire country—but it truly does feel like she’s trapped in a glorified prison, and what she wants most is to go home and be capable of helping all those in need. Instead, she’s in the bathroom, scalding shower drops pouring down her face as she nears total breakdown.  
  
This particular week has been especially difficult. There is so much happening in the world, so many news articles on her feed, so many deaths, so much injustice, and so much she wants to do something about. Before, she liked to think of herself as a generally-good person—someone who stands up for injustice, someone who travels the world and helps her fellow human beings in every way she can, and someone who will forever fight for lost lives and lost rights. That’s what makes a good person, right? The thing is, she used to be that kind of person, but now, she’s curled up in the shower, pulling at her drenched curls and forcing herself not to cry for the state of the world.  
  
Although she just got home from an entire day of protesting in the streets, her arms numb from holding up posters and her throat burning from hours of screaming out “black lives matter” beneath a face mask in hopes of being seen and heard by the corrupt systems and the rest of the world, Hermione still feels as though she hasn’t done enough—as though she hasn’t mourned and fought hard enough.  
  
But what else can she do, as a brown-skinned woman herself trapped in a foreign country, with her quarantine-bound hands and feet?  
  
Helplessness coursing through her veins, Hermione lets out a shaky breath and rises to her feet to twist the shower knob close. She stomps repeatedly on the shower mat, drying off her feet, before heading towards her bedroom.  
  
Lost in a self-loathing daze, she pulls on a pair of knickers, an ill-fitted jumper, and pyjama bottoms. Afterwards, she curls into herself in the middle of her bed, exhausted yet unable to find the strength to have a rest. She turns on the telly and stares blankly at the default station that only shows different news programs from across the country.  
  
Knowing what the daily news does to her already-breaking mind, Hermione shuts her eyes, but she finds that, despite herself, her ears are still eager to listen to the report about the wilting state of the world.  
  
More COVID-19 cases. More deaths. More territorial disputes between countries. More unfairly-murdered victims. More unjustifiable violence.  
  
When will it all end?  
  
Somehow, she can still find ways to blame herself for everything. Guilt curls up in her chest like unforgivable vipers, making their way up to her brain and settling there until the first tear slips out of her left eye.  
  
Why is she lying on a soft bed in a hotel suite, crying, while the rest of the world is suffering? She should be the one out there, the one starving and dying. She deserves it the most for her uselessness, for her inability to do anything of value.  
  
“Shit,” she mutters, sitting up and rubbing her eyes to get rid of the tears. The last thing she needs right now is to cry more tears than she already has. She needs to turn off the telly and distract herself in the best way she knows how—the same thing that’s been keeping her sane the entire year.  
  
Switching off the T.V. and grabbing her phone from under the pillows, Hermione pulls her still-damp curls into a bun and begins to do short breathing exercises to compose and ground herself. When she feels the tears and her anxieties retreating, she unlocks her phone and goes to an all-too-familiar shopping app.  
  
Admittedly, she has invested an embarrassingly-large amount of money in retail therapy over the years. Whenever she would get through periods of overwhelming emotions that threaten to swallow her whole, she heads instantly to the nearest shopping centre and treats herself. More often than not, she buys outrageous items that she will never use and will only end up somewhere in her loft—but sometimes, she purchases a nice pair of shoes, or a pretty pink frock, or even a few pieces of gold jewellery from a luxurious brand for herself. Most importantly, letting herself get what she wants once in a while truly does lift her spirits and erase any kind of negative thought she has about herself.  
  
Normally, she would only go through such bouts and periods a few times in a year, but as it appears, this particular year is nowhere near normal, and her bad mental days are starting to become her day-to-day life.  
  
She needs to treat herself, is all. After that, she’ll feel better again—even for only a short while.  
  
Quarantine has forced humanity to live their lives in creative ways, and Hermione is no different. Realising a few weeks ago that she couldn’t very well strut out of the hotel and off to numerous shops, she was forced to indulge herself with her sometimes-problematic retail therapy through a different way—through online shopping and delivery services.  
  
Since the beginning of a nationwide lockdown on the 16th of March, Hermione has had over fifty packages sent to the hotel, some of which haven’t even arrived yet, and at this moment, she’s already aching to own one of those glittery phone cases on sale. Oh, and that neutral eyeshadow palette! And perhaps that life-sized stuffed dragon for her roommate’s adorable son—or maybe, kids like superhero action figures nowadays…  
  
There’s even a box of tea packets available she can buy for Scorpius’s dad himself, and since he’s so keen on drinking hers without permission, she should buy that for him as well to save him the trouble of going to the grocer’s to get his own bloody tea.  
  
Adding all aforementioned items—and a few out-of-season knick-knacks she thinks would look cute on the kitchen counters—to her cart, Hermione begins to browse for things she can put to good use. Recently, her mother mentioned that she and her father were having trouble in finding face masks in shops, and although she’s already bought them two boxes of disposable masks that are on their way to her childhood home in London now, she might as well buy more, right? Or would that be considered as hoarding? The last thing she wants is to deprive other people of their needs, after all. Maybe she needs to cancel some of her or—  
  
A knock on the door jolts Hermione out of her thoughts, sending a twinge of irritation in her chest. Knowing that there is only one person in the entire hotel suite that bothers to knock before saying anything or entering, she calls out, “Come in, Malfoy.”  
  
It shouldn’t surprise her that he enters her bedroom, but for some reason, she still finds herself taken aback and gaping at the sight of him. Her quarantine roommate is a tall, blond man who permanently resides in Wiltshire. Staring at him now, wide-eyed, Hermione realised what exactly it is about him that shocks her to the core every time they see each other—which is, weirdly enough, not as often as anyone would think.  
  
He’s an attractive man and a single dad—what else is there to say about him? She might have frequent emotional breakdowns now more than ever, but weirdly enough, she still has enough brain cells to notice that Draco Malfoy of Wiltshire is a fairly handsome man. Or perhaps, she has so little brain cells left that she now thinks it’s completely acceptable to check her quarantine-roommate out—during times of such crisis!  
  
“Hey, uh, Granger.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, refusing to meet her gaze for some reason.  
  
She clears her throat, shifting her position on the bed. “Hey.”  
  
“Yeah, I just noticed that you’re home, so I…” he trails off, and she’s left hanging because he never actually manages to finish his sentence, only moving on to a completely different point. “Did you leave the bag groceries at the reception area or something? Because I wanted to unpack them…”  
  
At first, Hermione doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say, but scenes from earlier morning suddenly reappear in her mind, and she remembers that it’s _her_ turn to go to the grocer’s this week!  
  
“Oh shit, I totally forgot!”  
  
He grimaces at her words, and she mentally wants to slam her head into the wall several times in shame. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’ll just—”  
  
“I’m sorry! My thoughts were just all over the place, and I was—you know what? I’ll go right now!” She stands up, ready to rush to the wardrobe and change into her outside clothes again, but Malfoy grips her arm before she can go and stops her in her tracks.  
  
“It’s fine. I’ll just go.”  
  
At his words, she actually pouts. “But it’s not your turn.”  
  
“It’s okay,” he assures her, shrugging. “You’ve already showered, anyway.”  
  
She slowly nods, frowning. Truthfully, she doesn’t want to go outside her room again today—let alone outside the hotel suite—and she’s grateful that Malfoy volunteered to run the much-needed errands for her. “Are you sure you’re okay with that?”  
  
“Yeah,” he says, and she breathes out a sigh of relief, a thankful smile pulling at her lips already. “Just look after Scorpius while I’m gone.”  
  
At that, her growing smile drops. How in the hell is she going to take care of a four-year-old boy when she can’t even find the strength to do anything else but immerse herself in online shopping? Still, Malfoy is doing her a favour by going to the grocer’s instead of her, and she does owe him this much. Forcing herself to woman up, Hermione smiles through gritted teeth. “Sure.”  
  
“Great,” he tonelessly says, nodding. “I’ll go get him now. He just woke up, and he might throw a tantrum if he sees me leave the suite.”  
  
“Great,” she repeats, her body sagging in exhaustion at the mere thought of putting up with a child after what she already went through.  
  
Hermione watches him leave, almost giving in to the temptation of calling his name and telling him she’s changed her mind—but in the end, she just straightens up and thinks of the positive. Scorpius is a cute boy, and from her few past interactions with him, she’s seen that he’s an intelligent child whose incredibly polite for his age.  
  
And how hard can babysitting a four-year-old boy be? Maybe a few hours with Scorpius isn’t so different from a calm afternoon with her cat. Maybe she can even get the boy to sleep again, and she can take a quick nap as well.  
  
Ah, yes, a nap really sounds good right now.

* * *

Hermione was so very wrong. She completely underestimated the excessive amount of energy inside one four-year-old boy. There is no way she’ll be permitted to sleep, not when Scorpius keeps insisting that jumping on the settee is fun.  
  
“‘Mione, what’re you doing?” asks Scorpius for the hundredth time that afternoon, his words blurring together as toddlers often do.  
  
She places one of the throw pillows to lean against the arm of the settee and proceeds to rest her head on it, still attempting to catch her breath and slow her heart rate. “I’m resting, Scorpius.”  
  
That’s what she needs the most—rest. Her muscles are aching, and her bones feel like they’re going to collapse on her any second now. Not to mention, the nearly tear-inducing frustration she felt when she ran after Scorpius only succeeds in bringing her mind back to its overwhelmed state, and her hands are itching already to grab her phone and browse through various shopping apps again.  
  
Scorpius, during the few times she didn’t have her eyes on him, managed to get a hold of the pair of scissors in the kitchen area and sprinted away when she tried to grab it from him. After an exhausting and mentally-draining day, hunting a toddler to pry a sharp object away from his tiny hands is a bloody nightmare. But, of course, that’s over and done with. The scissors are now in the kitchen cabinets, and she’s convinced Scorpius to let her sit on the settee for a bit.  
  
“Resting?” he repeats, finally halting his attempt to turn the settee into a trampoline and crawling towards her. Promptly, he deposits his entire weight on top of her and shuts his eyes, releasing snore-like sounds and pretending to sleep. At first, Hermione breathes out a sigh of relief, but his head snaps back up again. “Done resting, ‘Mione! Let’s go play now!”  
  
She groans, putting an exhausted arm over her eyes. “I’m sorry, Scorp, but I’m tired.”  
  
“But we’re done resting!” he whines, removing the arm over her face to look at her with his pleading, soft eyes. “Please, ‘Mione! Let’s play again!”  
  
“How about you go play on your own, little one?” she suggests with a watery smile. “Go get your ball from your room, and you can play there in the hall.”  
  
“You play ball with me?” Scorpius brightens up, smiling from ear-to-ear.  
  
“No, dear, you can just—” she cuts off her words, distracted by the small vibrations of her phone in her pocket. The first thing that pops up on her lock screen is a short message from Scorpius’s dad, saying; ‘ _I’m being sprayed in the reception area rn. Make sure you and Scorpius are in one of the bedrooms when I arrive._ ’  
  
She nods in response to the message and stretches out her exhausted limbs before taking Scorpius into her arms, lifting him, and heading towards her bedroom. Ignoring his attempts of trying to break free from her hold and his never-ending questions, Hermione comes up with a brilliant idea.  
  
Three weeks ago, she purchased a used iPad Mini—along with its charger—in an online selling forum, and it only arrived yesterday. She remembered plugging it in earlier today before she left for the protest, so it must be fully charged by now, but she has yet to find a use for it. Having only bought the device on a whim, she didn’t really think about what she would do with it, especially since she’s trying—and failing—to reduce her exposure to social media and the internet in general.  
  
If she’s not planning to use the iPad Mini any time soon, she might as well let Scorpius play on it. Kids nowadays like gadgets, right? He should have no problem downloading whatever game he wants, and once he’s distracted enough, she should be able to rest her eyes for a minute or two.  
  
Shutting the door to her bedroom, she gently drops Scorpius on her bed, walks towards the sockets near the telly, and plugs out her charging tablet. Hermione turns the device on and faces Scorpius—or where Scorpius should be—only to see that he’s nowhere in sight.  
  
“Fuck,” she curses, tossing the iPad Mini aside and treads carefully on the other side of her bed. She finds Scorpius crouching down in front of her bedside table, peeking through one of the opened drawers. Putting her hands on her hips, she clicks her tongue in a scolding manner. “Scorpius.”  
  
His hands move quickly to snatch something from the drawer before he turns to her with an adorable yet mischievous grin on his face, a hand behind his back. “‘Hi, ‘Mione.”  
  
“What’s that on your hand?” she queries, raising an eyebrow. Truthfully, she’s suppressing the urge to pick him up and seize whatever item he’s taking hostage, but she also recognises that children might not always understand certain actions if one does them roughly.  
  
The heart-warming smile on his face only widens. “Nothing!”  
  
“Scorpius,” she warns, stepping closer. “That’s not yours, little one, and you should put it back right now.”  
  
“No!” he yells in protest when she gets close enough, leaning away from her before proceeding to sprint off again. “It’s mine!”  
  
“Stop running, Scorpius,” she demands, getting dizzy as she watches him buzz from one unopened package to another.  
  
He refuses to listen, only giggling as he runs across the room. Sighing, Hermione follows him with slower steps. She’s too bloody drained to run and deal with this shit at the same time.  
  
But Scorpius simply does not want to be caught, she realises as she watches him hop on and off the bed, only to run towards the bathroom.  
  
“Scorpius, please,” she resorts to begging, sheer aggravation knotting up in her chest. She is so bloody tired. She just wants to collapse on her bed and browse through shopping sites—is that too much to ask?  
  
Apparently so.  
  
Scorpius continues to run from her, his adorable, excited squeals slowly transforming into ear-piercing sounds as her head begins to pound.  
  
“Catch me, ‘Mione!” he screams, his voice shrill and threatening to break apart her mind.  
  
This is too much. She can’t—she’s too exhausted for this. She needs to rest, and she just can’t take any more of this frustration. All of a sudden, everything feels as though it exists only to choke her out, to drain her emotions, and to make the room spin and fill her eyes with liquid and to make her want to rip her hair out of her fucking scalp and—  
  
“Stop!” she shouts, dropping to her knees and clutching them to her chest as tears pour out of her blurry vision.  
  
She’s just so bloody tired. She needs to close her eyes and perform her breathing exercises. After that, she knows she’ll be fine. She’ll be great, even, if she only has time to take a fucking break.  
  
Vaguely, it registers in her mind that small arms have wrapped themselves around her figure, that there’s someone tiny— _Scorpius_ —beside her, giving her the sweet hug she didn’t know she badly needs after today’s events.  
  
Louder sobs are wrenched out of her lungs as she puts her arms around Scorpius’s frame. Why does she have to break down now—in front of Malfoy’s four-year-old son, of all people?  
  
It’s because her emotions have awful timing—always have been—choosing to break out of the walls she erected around her mind during the worst possible situation. She knows it’s not a good idea to cry her heart out to a toddler; she doesn’t think it would turn out healthy for either of them, and she knows she has to force herself to stop the tears from flowing now before it’s too late to snap herself out of her emotional breakdown.  
  
She holds Scorpius tightly to her chest as she performs her ritualistic breathing exercises, regains composure, and tucks all her escaped emotions in the deepest corners of her brain.  
  
When she feels in control again, Hermione smiles in relief, but guilt soon flicks any semblance of joy out of her, realising that she unnecessarily raised her voice at this sweet boy who hugged her as an attempt to make her feel better.  
  
“I’m sorry for shouting at you, Scorp,” she sincerely apologises, pulling away and looking down in shame.  
  
“Are you okay now?” he asks, the hint of worry in his tone melting her heart. Before she can answer his question, he grabs her hand and places the thing he took—a small box containing a gold pendant necklace she’s planning to give her mother once she’s able to visit—on her palm. “I’m sorry, ‘Mione. Don’t cry again please.”  
  
She smiles, unable to believe that she’s ever felt anything else but happiness for this adorable baby. “It’s okay, little one. It’s not your fault.”  
  
“Are you okay now?” he asks again, frowning in concern.  
  
She nods, small bursts of appreciative joy going off in her chest. “Yes, I’m okay now. How about you?”  
  
He lights up instantly at her response, launching himself into her arms and giving her another hug. “I’m okay, too! Can we play again?”  
  
Chuckling, she stands up and places him on her bed. “I have something to show you—something you can play hundreds of games and watch so many videos on. Would you like that?”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
Ten minutes later, Scorpius is sprawled out on the left side of her bed, lulled to sleep by the hour-long video of various nursery rhymes playing on the iPad Mini she let him borrow, while Hermione lies on her side next to him, her mind already lost in the dreamworld.

* * *

Hermione finds herself slowly being awakened when the distracting noises caused by the moving weight atop the mattress reach her ears. Trying to ignore the deep mutterings of the man in her room and go back to sleep, she shifts her position and moves her sleep-addled body away from the sounds before she realises that there isn’t even supposed to be a grown man inside her bedroom.  
  
Her eyes shoot open instantly, her body on high alert now. Gathering courage and whatever strength is left within her, she sits up and tries to identify the intruder.  
  
She lets down her guard as soon as she catches sight of who it is, exhaling a sigh of relief.  
  
“Hey, Granger,” Malfoy softly greets as he slouches over Scorpius’s sleeping form. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry; I was just trying to get Scorp.”  
  
“Oh yeah,” she dumbly says, trying to blink away her leftover drowsiness. Letting out an oddly-satisfying yawn, Hermione reluctantly gets off her bed. She stretches out her limbs for a short moment, never letting her gaze travel in the direction of Malfoy and his sleeping son. The scene seems awkward for some reason, and her first instinct is telling her to avoid them as much as possible. “I’m just going to let you do that while I go get dinner.”  
  
She doesn’t wait for any sort of response from him, grabbing her phone from under the pillows and immediately rushing towards the door to distance herself from him.  
  
Shortly after her abrupt exit, Malfoy emerges from her bedroom, carrying Scorpius in his arms. He gives her a short nod before padding towards their room. Before he passes through the doorway, however, he turns back to her with a small smile. “Thanks for taking care of this little monster, by the way. I cooked dinner when I first saw that you were asleep.”  
  
She nods, returning his slight smile with one of her own. “I should be the one who’s thanking you. You volunteered to go to the grocer’s, after all, and you also cooked tonight, so yeah… thank you, Malfoy.”  
  
“Don’t mention it,” he says as he disappears into his bedroom.  
  
When she reaches the small kitchen area, she finds a still-warm plate of bangers and mash waiting for her on the dining table and sends another, this time silent, ‘thanks’ to Malfoy. Over the past few months, she was ecstatic to learn that her quarantine-roommate is a great cook. Of course, she realises that he doesn’t share his food with her all the time—she theorises that he only does it when he thinks she’s done something to deserve his amazing dishes, but to be frank, she doesn’t mind—especially since she keeps emptying his supply of ice cream.  
  
She brings out a cool bottle of water from the mini-fridge, also grabbing a tall glass, before taking a seat and starting her dinner. After a couple of decadent bites, Hermione takes out her phone and unlocks it, unable to stay away any longer.  
  
She only remembers that scrolling through various social media feeds—today, especially—is a bad idea when she sees several news articles reporting on more deaths and injustice. Feeling as though she must know every case, story, and name of those she cannot help, Hermione doesn’t dare stop herself from reading more relevant news and watching more tragic videos.  
  
Her appetite is lost to the wind when she sees the first blood drawn in the streets full of protestors, and her hands shake uncontrollably all of a sudden, losing grip of the fork and her phone simultaneously. Tears well up in her eyes again, and she realises that she’s lost the ability to stop them from falling a long time ago.  
  
What is she doing here in this luxurious hotel suite, feasting on sausages and having the time of her life, when so many others in the world are dying? Why is she made to be so imperfect, so small and alone, and so helpless?  
  
She cannot help but hate herself for her incompetence, for her inability to reach out in such a terrible time. How can she even eat or breathe easily when her fellow human beings are unable to do the same? Why can’t she do anything of value that will help someone? Why can’t she do anything but cry all the time?  
  
If she can, she swears she’d drown herself in her suffocating tears. It is what she deserves the most after everything she let happen around her—she deserves to suffer through her overwhelming tears and emotions after letting so many people die without so much as blinking. She’s supposed to be an activist, right? She’s supposed to help; she’s supposed to prevent more deaths and injustice, not just sit helplessly in a hotel room and cry her bleeding heart out.  
  
A small part of her thinks it’s simply illogical to blame herself for every single lost life this year, but that doesn’t stop her from beating herself, from pulling at her hair strands and trying to hurt herself. Who else can she blame but herself? She’s supposed to be out there, doing her best to help, but she’s not. Whose fault is it but hers? Maybe if she’s doing something to help instead of breaking down, then the death rates would go down—if she’s not a fucking worthless human being, then maybe the world would be better.  
  
The uncontrollable sobs ripped from her lungs come out as pathetic whimpers, and she tries to quiet down her weeping even more because suffering silently is what she thinks she deserves. The world needn’t hear more of her helpless cries; everyone’s already going through so much, and it’s all she can do not to add to anyone’s problems.  
  
At the sound of a door creaking open, Hermione looks up and, through tears-tainted vision, sees Malfoy walking towards her.  
  
“Hey,” he greets, stopping in front of the dining table. He pauses for a few moments, a thoughtful look on his face as he lets her tearful whimpers dominate the silence. “Are you okay?”  
  
If Hermione has the emotional strength, she would’ve burst out laughing at his question, but apparently, tears are all she can conjure tonight. Deciding to humour him, she forces her lips to stretch into a grin and manages to break through her overwhelming sobs to croak out, “Yeah, I’m good. How about you?”  
  
“I’m okay, I guess,” he replies, seemingly unaware of her tear-streaked cheeks and occasional hiccups. “Listen, I have something to ask you.”  
  
Miraculously, she manages to halt her sobs for a short moment to look Malfoy in the eye, asking him if he’s truly being serious right now with her deadpan gaze. Realising that Malfoy is exactly the complete dolt she’s been thinking he is, Hermione sighs and wipes away her tears. She pours herself a glass of water and drinks it greedily, the cool liquid refreshing enough to get rid of the lump in her throat.  
  
“What is it?” she asks, pushing her plate away and rubbing her temple to soothe her headache.  
  
He takes a deep breath, grimacing, before taking a seat on the chair across from her. “When I was at the main reception area, the concierge realised that I was living with you and practically commanded me to bring all the packages addressed to you that were stuck in the boxroom all here. I placed them by the door, you see? And I—I guess I just feel like I have the right to ask about your strange… _shopping habits_ now that I was forced to go back-and-forth from the reception area up to our room—and the lift’s broken, by the way, so I really had to go up and down the stairs several times just to bring all your packages here.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes widen, and a gasp escapes her throat. “What?”  
  
“Yeah, it was tiring, but I just… I treated the thing like exercise, I guess,” he adds, rambling now at this point.  
  
Her face heating up in embarrassment, she averts her gaze and suddenly feels the need to bury herself six feet under the ground. When she came home from the protest, she just walked in a daze, her emotions and exhaustion all she could think about. Looking back with a much clearer head, she realised in horror and shame that the concierge was indeed trying to catch her attention while she was being sprayed down, but Hermione did not notice!  
  
“Oh, shit,” she whispers, burying her face in her hands. “Shit, Draco, I’m sorry.”  
  
“No, it’s—well, I wouldn’t say it’s okay when it’s not, but can I get that explanation now?”  
  
“You went to the grocer’s for me,” she starts to list, counting them all on one hand, “and you cooked dinner for me. To top it all off, you brought all the stranded parcels in the storeroom up to our room—fuck, how can I ever repay you again?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m kind of a superhero,” he sardonically drawls. “And I don’t know how you’re going to repay me, but maybe you can start by explaining what the hell’s going on? I saw the boxes in your room, too, you know.”  
  
Hermione sighs, more exhausted than ever. When she finally looks him in the eye, she’s alarmed to see the small hints of concern in his grey eyes—eyes that are so similar to Scorpius’s. With that one look from him, she decides to put it all there and open up. Who knows? Perhaps she’ll even feel better afterwards. “It’s retail therapy—well, a version of it that follows the rules of the lockdown. Shopping has always made me feel better ever since I was a teenager. I’m not really sure about the science of it all, but it does help me… uplift myself, I guess, and it normally passes; I usually just go on a shopping spree for a whole afternoon, and that’s it, but I’ve just been feeling shit lately, and… online shopping has been a great help so far, I think.”  
  
He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and she’s so anxious about his reaction that she feels the need to look up and search for validation in his expression, but she finds none. The only thing notable in his current expression is his deep frown. Unlike her, she guesses he’s not a very expressive person. Then, he shoots a quick smile at her, leaning back and shrugging. “I can’t judge you, I guess, so long as you’re financially stable enough to sustain your habits.”  
  
She cannot help but smile back at him, feeling a noticeable weight being lifted from her chest the longer they stare at each other. “Thank you.”  
  
His shoulders shrug again, and he looks away from her. “Just don’t make me carry all that shit again, and we’re good.”  
  
Hermione laughs, and she’s mildly shocked to find how easy it is to laugh with him. “No problem, and I promise to think of you and Scorpius whenever I come across something online I think you’ll like.”  
  
“Good.” He scoffs, a teasing glint in his eyes and a playful grin dangling on his lips. “That’s what you get for taking all my ice cream stock.”  
  
“Well, you’re the one who’s been drinking my tea without permission, so I guess we’re even in terms of that,” she points out, her mood brightening up.  
  
“You do know how to choose quality tea,” he admits, drumming his fingers on the table. Usually, distracting mannerisms like that annoy her to no end, but when Malfoy does it, the sound is almost soothing. “Speaking of drinks, do you want to open up a bottle of brandy or something? I find that I don’t have the appetite to enjoy my cooking either, and we might as well spend the rest of the evening trying to find fun in these shitty times.”  
  
“Sign me up for an emotional night of bad decisions. That’s kind of becoming my thing now, you know?”  
  
Malfoy chuckles, the sound oddly pleasing and refreshing to her ears. “Well, let’s get started then.”  
  
Suddenly feeling reinvigorated, Hermione looks forward to her first night without being visited by feelings of loneliness.

* * *

Alcohol stirring in her belly and her inhibitions slowly slipping, Hermione makes a home out of Draco Malfoy’s lips. Being enclosed in his arms and addictive scent, warmth surrounds her, and the longer her tongue dances with his, a different kind of heat ignites in her abdomen.  
  
His hands are everywhere, leaving burning prints of desire on her flesh. At this point, she isn’t sure if the heat is caused by the brandy or his touch alone; all she knows is she badly needs more of him. She’s been alone for so long, spent so many sleepless nights without anybody by her side, and cried countless times out of fear for others’ touch becoming a distant memory. He’s here now though, and he’s touching her in so many places.  
  
She doesn’t know how they made it to her bedroom without stumbling, but she realises that their lust must be stronger than the alcohol driving their brains. Unceremoniously, he drops her on the bed, his hands pulling at her clothes immediately. She lets him take off her jumper before grabbing his forearms, pulling him closer and putting his mouth back where it belongs—on top of hers.  
  
When his fingers desperately grip her breasts, he releases a sigh of relief against her mouth; and that single breath baptises her, gives back the life she thought she lost, and sends her to a paradise made entirely for her.  
  
She cannot help but bite down on his lower lip as his hands claw at her mounds, his nails digging into her skin. With a hiss, he pulls away from her mouth and looks down at her, his eyes darkening as he languidly moves his fingers to pinch both of her nipples. She squirms blissfully under his ministrations and heated stare, grinding her hips against his.  
  
He stops her movements with one hand at her hip, and a pathetic whine leaves her lips, quickly replaced by a long groan when Draco’s mouth latches onto her neck. His lips suck on her most sensitive spot—how he found it so quickly, she’ll never know—and once she finds herself breathless, he moves his tongue down her throat, leaving kisses on the way to her breasts.  
  
“Oh, fuck,” she breathes as his lips close in around her left nipple, practically sucking out the energy from her. His hand on her hip slips under the waistband of her pyjamas, his fingers teasingly hovering over her aching centre. Unable to help herself, she thrusts against his hand, desperate to have his large fingers strumming her wet heat, playing her oh-so-delightfully until her throat burns from screaming in pleasure.  
  
Thankfully, she doesn’t have to beg. Her alcohol-addled mind thinks that Draco is as eager as her to reach a new height of bliss, and when his fingers slip under her knickers, she thinks she’s proven right. If she’s sober, she thinks she would’ve been embarrassed by how wet she is, but right now, she has nothing to be ashamed of.  
  
Draco’s mouth leaves her breast, and he stares at her with lust-glazed eyes and an infuriating smirk as his fingers stroke her dripping slit. She acts brave and looks back at him, initiating a challenge of sorts, and she doesn’t avert her gaze—not even when the pad of his index finger finds her clit and lightly presses down on it, not even when he starts gently kneading her entrance, and not even when a gush of her wetness pours down onto his hand.  
  
She only breaks when he pushes in two of his fingers inside her and rubs her nub at the same time, screwing her eyes shut and whimpering in delight.  
  
Draco moves his fingers slowly, in an almost hypnotising manner, fully intending to drive her insane. His thumb traces deliberate patterns on her clit, and the fingers inside her push and pull so languidly that after only two minutes, Hermione releases the softest moans—her back arching off the bed as she lets her body surrender to the most weakening orgasm she’s ever had.  
  
She’s still trembling and gasping when she feels something thicker replace the fingers inside her. Eyes blinking open, she sees a mighty vision of Draco on top of her, his mouth open in a soundless groan and his eyes leering ever-so-intensely over her form. His face descends until their lips are moving against each other again, his hard length inside her thrusting up to the hilt.  
  
He starts a quick-paced rhythm, one that would’ve made the bed squeak if it isn’t as expensive and well-made as it is, and his lips seem to be incorrigible, leaving small kisses all over her face—her chin, the tip of her nose, her cheeks, the sides of her mouth, her closed lids—as he continues to fuck her. Oddly enough, his kisses combined with his pulsating member filling her up send her into a trance, turning her bones weak and leaving her limbs frozen. It’s as though she’s paralysed yet never numb. She still feels every single thing he does to her body, and she still cannot help but adore him for every tingle of pleasure he sends up her spine.  
  
When she opens her eyes again, she catches a glimpse of the arresting bliss on Draco’s face as he comes inside her. She doesn’t think of the consequences of their actions, too captivated by the way his face distorts in pleasure. He truly is a beautiful man, she realises. At the sight, she cannot help but grind into him one more time, reaching a gentler climax of her own.  
  
Afterwards, he sends her a mesmerising grin, stumbling to get off of her. Her eyes slide close when she feels him settling beside her, his arms engulfing her frame in the best way possible.  
  
It truly is wonderful not to sleep alone for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to another Dramione AU! This time, it's set in our 2020 world. Do you guys like it so far? Please tell me what you think of this in the comments! Btw, this is not beta-read, so I apologise for any errors you might find in the story.


	2. SEEK THE DARKNESS, SEEK THE LAUGHTER

Hermione wakes up in discomfort, attempting to kick the covers off of her legs and wipe away at the sticky feeling between her naked thighs. Realising that she’s fully nude when she feels fingers moving directly over her bare stomach, her eyes shoot open in alarm, only to be hit by a pounding headache.  
  
“Shit,” she mutters under her breath, also realising that the inside of her mouth is as dry as a cotton ball whilst she clutches her head in pain. It only then registers in her brain that she’s entangled with someone who’s currently stirring awake at this very moment.  
  
That’s when she remembers what she did the night before.  
  
A horrified squeal flies out of her lips, and she quickly opens her eyes again, sitting up and grabbing the covers she just kicked off to cover her exposed body again. Suddenly not minding her headache and her weary muscles, Hermione waits in anxious dread for Draco to completely wake from his slumber.  
  
His eyes are narrowed when he sits up and yawns, but an easy smile curves his lips the moment he sets his eyes on her. “Good morning.”  
  
Her face heats up the longer he smiles at her, and she’s embarrassed to admit that she almost loses the ability to speak. “Uh, yeah, good morning.”  
  
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice hoarse. When she doesn’t respond immediately, his hands move to cup her cheeks, his thumbs stroking her skin. “Aside from the killer hangover, I mean.”  
  
She repeatedly blinks, a jolt of pleasure shooting up her spine as his fingers move to her lips. “Yeah, um, I’m okay.”  
  
He releases a chuckle that eases her nerves, propping her lips open to slip his finger between them. She sucks on his finger instinctively, lust overtaking her embarrassment. “I hope you don’t regret what happened last night.”  
  
Hermione merely shakes her head as a response, not wanting to release his finger.  
  
“Good.” He nods, visibly swallowing. “Would you like a repeat performance?”  
  
She lets go of his finger then. “Yes, please.”  
  
His eyes darken, and the temperature of her room seems to rise. “Since you ask so nicely, I—”  
  
A shrill cry from the next room cuts Draco’s next words, and his head snaps up at the sound.  
  
“Scorpius,” she realises, her cheeks heating up in shame again.  
  
“Yeah, I have to go.” He removes his hands from her face, gets off the bed, and pulls on his tracksuit bottoms. When he’s decent enough, he turns to her again with another breathtaking smile, crawling towards her until their faces are only inches away. Tucking a curl behind her ear, Draco leans in and places a soft kiss full of promise on her lips before quickly rising to his feet again. “We’ll have to continue this later.”  
  
“Yeah, later,” she mimics, watching as he sprints out of her bedroom.  
  
She only lets herself panic when he’s out of sight, slamming her pounding head into the pillows to muffle her groan.  
  
Oh shit, she actually cannot wait to be with him again. Does he want the same? He has to, right? He said that they need to continue… _something_ later. Can that ‘something’ be more sex? God, Hermione certainly hopes so.  
  
It’s not that she’s a nymphomaniac and wants him to make her come every single night from now on—no matter how good that sounds, that’s not what she primarily wants at all. What she’s looking forward to having more of is his company. Last night, simply being with another person was enough to ease her mental state a little. Holding strange yet pleasant conversations with him, hearing his easy laughter, and being physically near him—it’s like she isn’t as alone as she thinks. It’s like catching a break and taking a breath of fresh air.  
  
Perhaps that’s what she’s been craving these past few months—actual human connection instead of the material objects she bought to console herself amidst her breakdowns. Perhaps, instead of looking down at her phone and seeing bad news all the time, she needs to learn how to communicate her feelings or something—whatever it is, she finds herself longing for more of it, for more feelings of genuine camaraderie, and for more time spent with Draco.  
  


* * *

After showering her hangover away, Hermione practically skips towards the kitchen area, excitement fluttering in her chest. Her stomach grumbles in hunger, but she does not pay attention to that, too eager to see Draco and Scorpius again.  
  
For the first time in weeks, soft petals of hope blossom inside her, and she has not realised it before, but isolation truly does eat at a person’s mind—and she’s just glad she doesn’t have to spend her free time drowning in self-loathing any longer.  
  
“Good morning, ‘Mione!” Scorpius beams as soon as he sees her, rushing in her direction to wrap his tiny arms around her legs.  
  
Hermione chuckles and picks the boy up, placing a kiss on his cheek before letting him down again to pat his head affectionately. “Good morning to you as well, little Malfoy.”  
  
“Play again?” the boy pleads with a hopeful expression. “Please, ‘Mione! I want to play again with you!”  
  
“At least finish your breakfast first before you bother others, Scorpius,” Draco admonishes from the dining table.  
  
Scorpius pouts, stomping back to his seat. “Play with ‘Mione after I eat, please, Daddy?”  
  
“I’m sure she’s too busy to take care of you today,” Draco responds, not even glancing at her direction once.  
  
She finds this odd, of course, but blames it on the leftover awkwardness from their steamy night together and ignores his strange behaviour, for now, letting out a gentle laugh. “I would love to play with you again, Scorp, but no more running around the room again, okay?”  
  
Scorpius stands on his chair and squeals out different sounds to portray his excitement, swaying his hips and waving his spoon in the air as a little celebratory dance. Occasionally, he sticks his tongue out and laughs at his father who fusses and tries to sit him back down while shooting unappreciative scowls her way.  
  
Her heart swells as the sight, itching to run back to her bedroom, fetch the instant camera she bought only three weeks prior, and snap a picture of the most important people to her life at the moment. They still might be unaware of her growing affections and endless appreciation for them, but she hopes that she can show them how much she adores and cares for the two of them.  
  
She doesn’t know if it’s her debilitating mental state talking, but she can now think of them as a temporary home, a fill-in family, and a makeshift haven. Yesterday has been an eye-opening experience for her; after babysitting Scorpius and baring her soul to Draco, she realised that it’s not a terrible thing to find comfort in the people nearest and most available to her.  
  
Smiling, Hermione finally looks away from them and focuses on preparing her own breakfast. She hears Draco softly reprimanding Scorpius for eating so slowly, the latter voicing out whiny protestations before they settle down in silence again.  
  
Realising she doesn’t know how well her stomach will react to a heavy meal after several hours of hunger, she grabs a bottle of fresh yoghurt from the mini-fridge and pours its contents into a white bowl. She then cuts fresh fruits, taken from the cupboards, into medium-sized slices and tosses them into the bowl.  
  
A spoon and the bowl in both hands, she takes the seat next to Draco, pretending not to notice the way he stiffens up when she sits down. Instead, to cover up the slight hurt she feels at his odd reaction, Hermione attempts to strike up a conversation with him. “Did you cure your hangover already? For some reason, my headache miraculously disappeared as soon as I turned the shower on.”  
  
She waits for his response, but Draco never gives any, giving her the cold shoulder and taking his phone out. Frowning at her food, she begins to rack her brain for any bad thing she might’ve said or done to him, but she finds no rational reason for his avoidance of her to be justified.  
  
What’s going on with him? He seemed alright, if a little too raunchy, this morning; he even alluded to a repeat of their impassioned lovemaking, so why is he acting so coldly towards her now?  
  
“Need to pee!” Scorpius promptly exclaims, squirming in his chair before dashing towards the loo.  
  
When Scorpius is out of sight, Hermione tries again with Draco, switching up her strategy.  
  
“About last night and this morning,” she huskily starts, her hand sneaking up his thigh, “I just want to say that I… enjoyed myself, and I’m up for more if you are, too.”  
  
Her fingers ghost over his crotch, and to her satisfaction, she hears his breath hitching in his throat. Finally, a reaction.  
  
Emboldened by this, she cups his bulge through his trousers and leans closer. He swallows and licks his lips, turning to her with a heated glare. At his intense gaze, Hermione finds herself transported back to the previous night, memories of his searing touch flooding her mind.  
  
Somehow, her entire body is set on fire with one look of his, and it’s as though her self-control is rapidly slipping from her fingers.  
  
“Granger,” he warns, gripping her wrist and shaking his head when she squeezes him repeatedly. His eyes tell her of a punishment befitting her brazen actions, and she cannot wait to do it—to get on her knees and worship him as he deserves.  
  
She uses her other hand to cup his cheek, and her heartbeat quickens when his face automatically leans into her touch. He licks his lips again, and she stares, fixated on the lovely shape of his mouth. Breathless yet so alive, Hermione begins to plead, “Draco, I—”  
  
“Daddy, I don’t want to eat anymore!” As soon as Scorpius’s voice breaks through the atmosphere, Draco jumps away from her, as if burned, and she’s left there in mild shock.  
  
She tries to reach for him again, to talk with him again, but he only puts more distance between them and shakes his head once more. What is he trying to tell her?  
  
Draco rises to his feet and meets his son halfway, picking him up from the floor. “If you’re not going to eat, then you must be ready for bath time!”  
  
“But it’s cooold,” Scorpius whines as they disappear into their bedroom.  
  
Perplexed, Hermione is left alone again—with nothing but the kitchen appliances, a forgotten bowl of fruits and yoghurt, and her thoughts as company.  
  
Why is the Draco last night and this morning so different from the one she just encountered?  
  
Last night, before the alcohol, he joked around with her—treated her like an old friend and asked about her alarming issues. Then, they began to drink, and he started opening up about his own inability to find light in these tough times. She was the one who delivered the first kiss, but he kissed her back, almost swallowing her whole in his raw passion.  
  
Is it her fault for expecting him to stay in character, to at least be consistent? He’s giving her mixed signals at the moment—on one hand, he’s kissing her and asking her if she’s okay, but on the other, he’s scowling and sending dirty looks at her. Maybe he doesn’t want his son to think that they’re more than reluctant acquaintances. Maybe she read their situation completely wrong, and she’s still as alone in this huge hotel suite as she thought she was.  
  
Hermione swallows the confusion and the hurt, for now, wholly unprepared for that kind of heartache. When the situation gets worse and more disconcerting, she swears to confront him, but until then, she’ll remain quiet and observe his behaviour from afar.  
  
Besides, there are more productive things she can do with her time than think about an inconsistent man—for example, she can donate to charities, sign petitions, and attend protests. It’s more honourable for her to contribute to society than mull over a one night stand that’s satisfying at best, right?  
  
She doesn’t want to go into a self-loathing space any time soon, and as a decent human being, it is her responsibility to stand up to injustice until the word itself doesn’t even exist anymore.  
  
It is time for her to fight once more; she’s now decided that she won’t stop protesting and marching until there is a noticeable change around the world. Truthfully, she cannot wait for the rest of the day, but a part of her is hoping that it doesn’t end with her breaking down again.

* * *

Hermione’s eyes open, meeting the dark ceiling of her bedroom, and almost forgets what woke her up in the first place, only to be reminded when the incessant sound of her ringtone blares from her vibrating phone under the pillows. Taking her phone out, she notes to change her ringtone to something much less annoying later.  
  
Now, who the hell is calling her in the middle of the night?  
  
Eyes almost burning from the blinding brightness of her phone, Hermione accepts the call and puts the device next to her ear, groggily saying, “Hello?”  
  
“ _Hello, darling,_ ” the familiar wispy lullaby of her mother’s voice reaches her ears, and a smile comes to her face instantly. Often suffering from insomnia, her mother has a habit of dialling her number and checking if she’s still alive in the middle of the most random nights. Normally, this annoys Hermione, but now, she hangs on to her mother’s voice and words, desperate for assurance and comfort. “ _How is it going there? Are you alright, sweetheart?”_  
  
“I’m okay, Mum. How about you and Dad?” Hermione sits up and rubs her eyes, letting out a yawn.  
  
“ _We’re—we’re doing good. Don’t worry about us, okay? Just focus on yourself there, and take care of yourself._ ” Is it a childish thing for her to admit that her mum’s voice feels like the sweetest breath of fresh air after the confusing and draining week she experienced?  
  
Her smile widens, and she rolls her eyes despite herself. “I know, Mum. Take care of yourself, too.”  
  
Her mum hums in acknowledgement. “ _Listen, I have to tell you something—don’t freak out, alright? I only want to tell you this because I know you’ll be upset if I don’t, okay?”_  
  
Hermione’s smile drops, her chest constricting in apprehension. Her mind flies back to the bad news she keeps encountering on the internet these past few weeks. She tries to swallow down her worry, but she’s too afraid of what’s next—too afraid of more bad news. Still, she doesn’t voice out her fears. “Okay, Mum. Just tell me.”  
  
She hears her mother take a deep breath from the other line before she speaks. “ _Your father was hospitalised two days ago. He tested positive for the virus, and since the doctors speculate that I might’ve caught it from him, I’m going to stay in the hospital now as well, and—are you alright, darling? No matter what happens, don’t worry about us, okay?_ ”  
  
At her mother’s words, she just completely breaks—though one wouldn’t be able to tell that she’s going through agony from even a close distance. Even as her mind and heart shatter, she’s certain that her face doesn’t betray any emotion except shock. Hermione just sits there with a phone in her ear, wide eyes, and an open mouth.  
  
Her limbs are frozen, and her fingers are starting to numb. There’s something hefty pressing on her chest, stomping on her lungs and causing her to chase every short breath she’s able to take. Her eyes well up with tears she swore never to shed again, and as she blinks, drops of moisture roll down her cheeks—a baptism of the broken.  
  
" _Hermione? Are you okay, dear?_ ”  
  
After her night with Draco, she’s been thinking that she has recovered from her emotional exertion and breakdowns. Earlier, when she got home from the protest, she even swore to herself that she was alright now. Like a fool, she believed her own lies and desperations, not knowing that with one more terrible news, the newly-repaired walls of her fragile mind would crumble down in transparent shards of glass again.  
  
And for the millionth time since the beginning of the lockdown, Hermione begins to ponder her reason for being here, for being apart from those who truly need her help. Despite her mother’s assurances, Hermione cannot help but wonder what things will happen differently if she’s right where she’s supposed to be, if she’s not stuck in this goddamn hotel suite in another country.  
  
Then and there, she makes an ultimatum, a decision to satisfy her guilts.  
  
“I’m going home,” she firmly states, her dwindling state evident in the way her voice cracks. “I’m going to book a flight and take care of you both. I’m—”  
  
She almost sobs at her mother’s consoling voice. “ _You can’t, luv. Even if the airports open up in the next minute, I will not permit you to risk your health and safety for us. I’m sure your father thinks the same. All you can do right now is maintain your—_ ”  
  
“No, no, I want to go home now,” she whines, tapping into her childish tendencies now that she has nothing left. “I have to help you and Dad. I can’t just sit here and do nothing while you—Mum, please, I want to go home.”  
  
“ _No, darling,_ ” her mum softly refuses. At her insistent tone, Hermione takes off all her defences and gives into the raw and desperate emotions pulling at her heartstrings, releasing loud exhausting sobs and whimpers. “ _Your father and I—we’ll be okay. We’ll recover from this. If you truly want to help us, you can do so by protecting yourself from sickness and staying safe as much as possible. I promise you we’ll be good in no—_ ”  
  
“Why do I deserve to stay safe when you and others in the world are dying?” Hermione lashes out, the intense agony that comes with guilt clawing at her insides. Realising that she just raised her voice at her mother, she starts to cry harder, louder, and _uglier._  
  
“ _Don’t blame yourself for things you can’t control, Hermione. What happened to us and whatever happens to the rest of the world—it’s not your fault. In fact, you’re doing more than the average person. You’re donating, protesting, supporting black-owned businesses—that’s enough, luv. You don’t have to save every single living thing on this planet._ ”

 _“_ But that’s what I’m supposed to do,” Hermione insists, wiping her snot and tears off with the back of her hand.  
  
“ _No, sweetheart,_ ” her mother persists, her patience seemingly endless. “ _The best thing you can do right now is, take care of yourself. Heal your mind and spirit. You can’t help when you’re like this. That’s why you have to take a break first, okay? Take a deep breath, ground yourself, and stay away from the internet for a little while. I have to go now, and you need to rest, but call me when you’re feeling down, okay? Are you alright there, Hermione?_ ”  
  
“Yes, Mum,” she squeaks out, snuffling as an onslaught of tears pours out of her eyes. “I’m okay.”  
  
“ _Get better, okay? I love you, and I miss you. We’ll see each other soon, I promise._ ”  
  
“I love you too, Mum.”  
  
Hermione only weeps harder when her mother hangs up the call. 

* * *

When she runs out of tears to cry but still has boundless unbridled emotions to pour, Hermione dashes towards the bathroom, having enough of giving in to weakness and letting melancholy reign supreme.  
  
She tries to wash her face, to rinse out the remaining tears deep in her sockets, and to haul all her misery out of her system—but her hair keeps getting in the way. No matter how many times she tucks the strands behind her ears, her curls always end up hovering over her face, acting as a barrier of sorts to stop her from erasing her sadness.  
  
It’s almost adorable how her hair seems sentient, seems to show concern for her well-being. But Hermione has had enough. She’s so sick of crying, of breaking down, of stressing out—of this fucking hair!  
  
She almost slips away to another fit of sobs when her hair gets in the way yet again, but she stops herself last minute, letting out a wretched growl of frustration instead before her hands make an impulsive decision on their own and reach for the pair of scissors she knows are inside the medicine cabinet.  
  
Once the scissors are in her right hand, Hermione pulls at the ends of the strands that keep blocking her face and prepares to make a lofty chop.  
  
Her grip falters when she remembers how much her mother loves her hair. She inherited the thickness and the stubbornness of her curls from her mum, after all. Her mother taught her to wash the curls, to style her hair in a way that made her feel pretty as a child, and to love every single inch of it during a time when she believed everyone who told her she was ugly because of it.  
  
She lets the pair of scissors drop to the washbowl as the tears spill out of her eyes once more. She cannot find the strength to remain standing any longer, so she sinks to the floor, throwing her head back and letting out a frustrated shout.  
  
Hugging her knees and curling in on herself, Hermione heaves hopeless sobs. Everything feels as though it’s out of her hands, and she’s inching closer to completely succumbing to the overwhelming guilt inside her.  
  
She so badly wants to do something of value, to be of use, and to help. But how can she do so when she can’t even help herself?  
  
Suddenly, a series of knocks pound on the door, followed by desperate twists of the locked doorknob. “Granger, are you in there?”  
  
Hermione raises her head to frown at the door, hiccups escaping her throat as she pulls up the hem of her jumper and uses it to wipe away at her face. “Yeah.”  
  
“Are you alright? I woke up to a scream,” he says from behind the wood.  
  
Now that he’s concerned for her again, she gets distracted and grows confused for a moment. Earlier morning—or was it yesterday?—he kept sending her looks of disdain. Why does he care now that the sky is dark?  
  
Shakily, she pulls herself up and, with trembling fingers, reaches to twist the door open. Too ashamed to meet Malfoy’s gaze, she stares at her bare feet instead. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”  
  
His soft hand lifts her chin, coaxing her to look him in the eye. She does and finds so much worry in his narrowed eyes that she’s almost taken aback. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She’s silently surprised that she still has the energy to lie. “I was just…”  
  
“You were what?” he gently asks. “You can tell me. I’ll listen, and I’ll never judge you.”  
  
Hermione swallows at the sincerity in his expression. Catching a glimpse of something else hiding behind his pupils, she decides to give in to his request and pulls her head out of the ocean of her overwhelming emotions to ensure a comprehensible explanation. “My parents are in the hospital because of the virus.”  
  
“Shit, Granger, I’m sorry.”  
  
Shaking her head and trying her hardest to restrain her tears, Hermione takes his hand that’s around her chin and laces their fingers together. “I think I could’ve prevented it from happening. I wish I wasn’t stuck here. I wish I’m in London with my family—if that was the case, maybe I could’ve—I could’ve...” she trails off, struggling to come up with something reasonable to say. When she can’t find the right words, she looks to Draco for help.  
  
He only sighs and pulls her in for a hug. Instinctually, Hermione wraps her own arms around him and buries her face in his chest. She doesn’t know how or why, but simply embracing him soothes her nerves, and she suddenly doesn’t have to worry about anything anymore now that she’s safe in his arms.  
  
“I know how that feels.”  
  
She shuts her eyes, grateful for the warmth and comfort he provides. “You do?”  
  
“We human beings tend to blame ourselves for things we can’t control,” he softly says, lips brushing against her hair. “To be honest, I don’t know what you want to hear, and I’m not very good at giving advice either. But what I want you to know is, no one else thinks you’re at fault.”  
  
“You really think so?” Hermione looks up at him, pressing a hand on his chest to feel the lulling pulse of his heart.  
  
“I _know_ so,” he corrects, smiling and placing a kiss on her forehead. “And even if you think you should be blamed, I think… I think others would understand your limitations and inability to offer aid all the time.”  
  
“Yeah?” At this point, she’s already at peace—frankly, she instantly felt better the moment he hugged her and showed her she wasn’t alone for a second time—and just wants to prolong the conversation to hear more of his uncertain yet tender reassurances.  
  
He nods. “Yeah, ordinary people are more forgiving than we think. We’re all just imperfect caricatures of gods anyway, so who are they to judge you? Besides, you do more than most people—even if you think it’s not enough, it’s still something, right?”  
  
Truthfully, she feels more comforted by the sincerity in his touch and voice than his actual words, but she appreciates both anyway.  
  
Having found enough reason and energy to smile, Hermione stands on her toes, grips his shoulders, and puts her lips near his ear. “Thank you.”  
  
Draco pulls her closer. “Do you feel better now?”  
  
“I don’t know,” she admits, nipping at the shell of his ear. “I think I need you to do something to distract me from my many plights.”  
  
“And what do I need to do, exactly?”  
  
She shrugs as elegantly as one can do after crying. “You can kiss me, perhaps?”  
  
He doesn’t even hesitate, doesn’t take a minute or two to fully process her words, instantly holding her face and pulling her in for a breathtaking kiss. Gasping at the pleasant tingling that shoots up her entire body, Hermione kisses him back and wraps her arms around his neck.  
  
She lets herself drown in the softness of his lips, the playfulness of his tongue, and the gentle harshness of his teeth—and she never misses an opportunity to reciprocate, to run her tongue over the shape of his lips and to make him moan as loud as he does her.  
  
When they’re left breathless by the intensity of their snogging, Draco’s begins peppering soft kisses down her throat, letting her throw her head back and shut her eyes in pleasure. He grazes his teeth against her flesh, licking up her neck. One of his hands travels to her chest, squeezing her braless breasts through her jumper. He locates her nipple and tweaks it between his fingers, coaxing a loud moan out of her throat.  
  
While he rids her of her shirt, Hermione vaguely realises that this is a very bad idea. Sex isn’t a healthy coping mechanism, is it? Letting Draco fuck her raw against the wall of the bathroom to distract herself from her issues will most probably lead to her craving more and more of him as her problems multiply—and she knows that. She knows this isn’t a good idea and won’t have positive consequences in the long run. Does that mean she’s going to stop Draco from tossing her jumper and latching his mouth on her chest? _Hell no._ _  
_ _  
_ Instead, she throws all evidence of her intelligence away and grabs a fistful of Draco’s hair as his mouth feasts on her breasts. She gives into the heated desire that always pools in her abdomen whenever he looks at her in a certain way and just lets herself be pleasured by his eager lips, tongue, and teeth.  
  
He seems to be fascinated with her body more than their first time. Occasionally, he’ll pull away from her and just gape at her full breasts, deep curves, and her stomach before leaving open-mouthed kisses to her parts that entice him—meaning: he kisses her everywhere. The way he pays attention to every spot on her skin—even ones she doesn’t think is appealing by any means—tells her that she is the most beautiful woman in the world. She doesn’t think she deserves the title quite yet, but she believes it wholeheartedly coming from him.  
  
When he’s done worshipping her, he kisses her on the mouth once again, pushing her backwards and slamming the door to turn them around and press her back against it. Now that she has the chance, she lets her hands wander over his bare chest. She even flicks his nipples twice, stopping immediately when his fingers lock around her wrists. She doesn’t stay still for long though, her hand moving down to his clothed erection.  
  
Hermione parts from his mouth to seductively smile at him. She squeezes him through his clothes, enthralled by the hiss that passes through his lips. He holds her at the hips and presses himself closer to her touch, and she’s more than eager to thrust her hand in his underwear and feel his pulsating member against her palm. Holding his gaze, she licks her lips as she slowly grips him, surprised when her hand cannot completely go around his girth.  
  
Her thumb rubs his weeping slit, spreading his pre-come all over the tip of his member. Her heated centre practically flutters in delight when she hears his groan of approval, and she reaches to pull his pyjama bottoms and underwear down enough to completely free him and pumps him slowly—watching as his dick fully hardens.  
  
When he’s had enough of writhing under her touch, he slaps her hand away from his member, only to crash their lips together again. His hands make quick work of pulling down her knickers—she’s forgotten to do the washing this week and ran out of sleepwear, opting to pull on one of her more casual jumpers and a comfy pair of underwear—kicking them off when she feels them on her feet.  
  
He grabs her thighs, urging her to wrap them around his hips, and she quickly does. Moaning at the feel of his erection against her aching slit, Hermione desperately grinds her hips against his. He stops her movements with one hand, pulls away from their kiss, and grabs his member to guide himself inside her.  
  
When she feels his hard length stretching her wet walls, she releases a breathy groan, looking deeply in his eyes as he thrusts to the hilt. His fingers dive into her clit instantly, rubbing her to full-on ecstasy as he starts a slow rhythm.  
  
She wraps her arms around his neck again and rests her head on the crook of his neck, softly sucking on his flesh as he turns her into putty. She’s in awe of his sheer self-control; he’s never sped up the pace even as she tries to meet his thrusts harsher and harder. He wants her to drive her insane with his slow fucking again, and she cannot even do anything but hold onto him for the rest of the blissful yet torturous ride.  
  
The languorous in-and-out movement of his thick member, her walls fluttering and stretching to accommodate him each time he drives in, fulfils her needs in more ways than one. He plays with her clit as though he’s mastered the art of pleasure, causing her to release soft cries. Every time their hips jut against each other, she feels oddly whole.  
  
When he finally eases his rubbing and resorts to frequent pinching of her clit, Hermione reaches her orgasmic peak, and she does so soundlessly, her teeth biting down on his neck. Her juices flood out from inside her, and she quivers under the aftershocks of her climax. As her trembling cunt clenches around Draco’s moving member, he finally snaps out of his agonisingly-slow rhythm and begins a much more thrilling pace.  
  
He fucks her into the door, and she lets him, releasing pathetic whimpers whenever he accidentally hits her sensitive clit, but she doesn’t have the energy or the will to come again. She just lets him move and use her for his pleasure, completely content with kissing the sides of his mouth and occasionally grinding against him.  
  
This time, he makes sure to pull out before spurting out his come on her belly. Hermione watches, intrigued, as his facial expressions shift from one intense emotion to another whilst he goes through his orgasm, grunts slipping from his decadent mouth. Unable to help herself, she kisses him when a crooked smile spreads across his lips, feeling a soft emotion blossoming in her chest at the sight.  
  
They lazily snog for a couple of minutes, taking time to lose themselves in each other’s lips. Afterwards, Draco puts her down, reaches for a nearby towel, and wipe away at their mixed essence. He even pulls up her knickers for her after he’s done fixing his appearance. She doesn’t have to do anything at all, just putting her head back on his shoulder and shutting her eyes.  
  
“Thank you,” she whispers into his neck, kissing him there one last time, as he picks her back up and proceeds to carry her to her bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this story comes from Daniel Caesar's song of the same name. Also, the chapter titles came from the lyrics of the song lol. The entire 'Case Study 01' album just inspired me while writing this, and I would love for you guys to take a listen to some of his songs! Anywayyy, what do you guys think of this chapter? Lmk in the comments!


	3. ONLY FORWARDS, NEVER BACKWARDS

“Good morning.” The smile on Hermione’s face must be overpowering the beaming sun by now, and it’s intentional; she wants to show Draco how grateful she is for his ‘help’ last night, but right now, he doesn’t even glance in her general direction, too focused on his phone screen. She tries not to let this discourage her attempts to talk with him. “Did you sleep well last night?”   
  
Again, not an ounce of acknowledgement from his part. At least he barely looks at her this time, raising an inquisitive brow at her. All her pretences drop the minute he turns back to his phone, a scowl taking over her expression.    
  
Just how inconsistent can a single man be? Last night, he lent his ear to her, listening to her problems and offering advice. Then, he fucked her ever-so-slowly, making sure that her bones weakened and her muscles trembled in languorous bliss before he let her come. Now, he’s making her feel like she’s some crazed pervert in the streets, seemingly unworthy of his attention.   
  
Draco Malfoy is just so… so bloody infuriating! He’s handsome, yes, and even kind at times. Admittedly, sex with him is mind-blowing—so mind-blowing that she often loses herself in the pleasure he graciously offers her and forgets about the mess that is her life for a short period—and he sometimes looks at her like she’s the most stunning creature he’s ever put his eyes on, but he also confuses her. And not in a good way!   
  
It’s like he’s some variant of a werewolf or something, but instead of turning into a beast at night, he becomes aloof and cold towards her in the morning. It’s like he’s ghosting her, only instead of disappearing for days and coming back because he claims to miss her, Draco Malfoy makes her feel good for one night and pretends she doesn’t exist the next morning in their shared kitchen. Is the man she’s sleeping with a different person from the one not even replying to her greeting right now? Because that seems like that’s the case.   
  
She cannot figure him out, and it’s slowly making her want to rip her hair out of her scalp. He’s supposed to be a distraction, someone temporary who will give her orgasms—not another addition to her many problems and personal issues!    
  
Hermione turns her back on him, clenching her fists in an attempt to hold back her temper. Of course, there is an underlying hurt in her heart caused by his inconsistent patterns, but she doesn’t let herself recognise that pain, too proud to admit that she’s inwardly sulking over a quarantine fling. Besides, there are more important things that need her attention. At the end of the day, he’s just a good fuck, and she’s much too strong of a woman to let him mess with her emotions.    
  
So, no, she will not be angered or hurt by his actions. If he stays inconsistent, she’ll just have to accept that he doesn’t have the emotional capacity to fully commit to someone like her. If he doesn’t want her, she’ll simply move on whilst working on her mental health and helping to improve the miserable state of the world.    
  
And her nights are better spent without him anyway. Without him getting in the way, she can focus on aiding her parents from afar and staying active in issues she’s passionate about. Speaking of which, she needs to finish breakfast and prepare for the protest as soon as possible—she doesn’t want to waste her precious time thinking about a man, of all things, instead of standing up for injustice.    
  
“Hey, Granger,” Malfoy calls out just when she’s convinced herself she’s sick of him.   
  
Hermione glares at him over her shoulder. “What?”   
  
He looks taken aback by her annoyed tone but doesn’t back off. “I’m going out for the entire day because…” he trails off, never really giving a full explanation before continuing. “The point is, can you watch Scorp while I’m gone?”   
  
She straightens her posture, narrows her eyes, and crosses her arms over her chest—ready to refuse him. “As a matter of fact, I’ll be going out as well—for something actually important. I don’t want to spend my hours looking after a child of someone who doesn’t even—”   
  
“‘Mione! ‘Mione! Look what I did!” Scorpius exclaims, rushing from the sitting area to stop in front of her and hand over a sheet of paper. Frowning, Hermione takes the paper from his hands. At first, she does not understand what she’s seeing, but the child quickly explains amid his excitement. “It’s you! I draw you because I like you! Do you like it?”   
  
The sketch is nothing more than wriggly lines and crooked shapes, but Hermione’s heart positively swells at the sight of it. Her previous irritation at the boy’s father quickly dissipates and turns into utter adoration for Scorpius. Gosh, children are so sweet. “I love it, Scorpius! You’re such a great artist!”   
  
“Artist?” Scorpius’s eyes brighten up at the word. “I’m an artist!”   
  
“Yes, you are!” she praises, grinning from ear-to-ear. “And a very good one at that!”   
  
“I draw your hair—is it good, too?”    
  
Hermione looks back at the drawing, identifying the vague triangle shape around her drawing-self’s head as the child’s interpretation of her thick curls, and laughs in appreciation. “Yes, it’s good! I love it, Scorpy. Thank you so much for drawing me!”   
  
Scorpius nods, smiling as he takes back the paper. “I’ll draw more you, okay?!”   
  
He sprints off back to the sitting area, and she watches him with an adoring smile.   
  
Her smile drops when Draco speaks again, rubbing at the back of his neck. “So, are you up to looking after him?”   
  
She looks back at the boy who’s furiously sketching on his paper, then back to his less-angelic father, releasing a sigh. “Okay.”   
  
After all, how the hell is she supposed to refuse someone as adorable as Scorpius?

* * *

Many people have told Hermione that she doesn’t seem like the type to hold an office job for years, and they often find themselves surprised when she confirms that she does work as a sub-editor in a publishing company that operates at a small beige building. Before the pandemic, she used to spend most of her days staring at a computer screen and reading five hundred words a minute.    
  
Although she admits that she’s not the least bit enthusiastic when it comes to working, she still tries her hardest to excel at her job. She never misses a deadline, never shows up late, and never acts unfriendly towards her co-workers. She’s a model office worker—or at least she used to be.    
  
Caught up in her overwhelming emotions and everything that’s happening around the world this particular long week, Hermione has completely forgotten about her day job, and now there is a thirty-paged document she needs to finish working on before tonight if she wants to keep up her good record.   
  
She tries to work and watch over Scorpius at the same time, but when her job is to focus on the paper and look for certain imperfections, everything becomes extra difficult when there’s a four-year-old running around the room and buzzing over her ear.   
  
“‘Mione, what’re you doing?” Scorpius asks when he finally gets tired of jumping around and screaming excitedly. He sits next to her, glancing at the screen of her laptop, appearing curious.   
  
“Working,” she grumbles, unable to work at all while the child is around her. Scrolling back to see her work, Hermione releases that she’s only finished four pages of proofreading in three hours and groans.   
  
“Daddy works like that, too,” he mentions, pointing at her laptop.   
  
“Really?” Curious, she turns to the child with a questioning gaze. She’s never really thought of Draco’s occupation before, but if his track record with her is something to go about, she thinks it’s not hard to see him as someone in the business field—or even someone who scams old people for a living.   
  
“Yep!” Scorpius confirms, his eyes lighting up. “Can we play now?”   
  
She sighs, ruffling the boy’s blond hair. “I can’t, Scorpius. I have to send this tonight, and I’m not even half-way through the paper.”   
  
“But I’m bored.” He pouts, shoulders drooping.   
  
“Why don’t you watch some shows on the telly?” she suggests, her will slowly slipping at the sight of his adorable puppy eyes.   
  
Scorpius shakes his head, looking as though close to tears. “I want to play with you!”   
  
“Scorpius, I’m—”   
  
“No more working! Playtime only with me!”   
  
“Scorpius,” she repeats in a warning tone.   
  
“Please,” he persists, real tears welling up in his eyes. “Please, ‘Mione? Five minutes only for play, please?”   
  
Hermione looks deeply into Scorpius’s pleading grey eyes before glancing back at her laptop for a moment. “Five minutes only?”   
  
He eagerly nods. “Yes, five only.”   
  
She frowns at the remaining twenty-six pages of the document, conflicting emotions at war in her heart. On one hand, she really isn’t in the mood for working, and she cannot even force herself to focus on the task at hand when Scorpius is bumbling around her—but at the same time, she also knows that she cannot just waste her time on playing with the boy. To choose fun over responsibility would undoubtedly go against everything she stands for in her career.   
  
“Please, ‘Mioneee,” Scorpius continues, drawing out her name in a high-pitched whine.   
  
Hermione turns back to him, a resolved smile on her face. Who says she can’t have fun once in a while? Besides, she can continue working on the document when she convinces Scorpius to take his afternoon nap; she can spend quality time with Scorpius now and finish her job later—is this what they call ‘killing two birds with one stone’?   
  
“Okay.”   
  
“Really? You’ll play with me?”   
  
The smile on her face grows into a toothy grin when Scorpius’s entire demeanour brightens. “Yes, I’ll play with you.”   
  
“Okay!” he exclaims, climbing off her bed. “I’ll get ball!”   
  
“Wait!” she calls out, making Scorpius look back at her. Grinning, Hermione approaches the boy with her arms stretched out in front of her. “Before you go, you have to participate in today’s tickle fest!”   
  
Scorpius squeals in delight when she picks him up from the floor and starts to tickle his sides. The boy’s adorable giggles make her release silly chuckles herself, and minutes later, they end up sprawled on the floor, their bellies aching from ceaseless laughter.    
  
Needless to say, her decision to prioritise Scorpius before her work results in her losing track of time and missing her deadline.

* * *

This time, Hermione finds herself unable to sleep because of work and, of course, the unhealthy amount of caffeine in her system. Thankfully, after learning of her predicament in another country and her parents’ fragile health, her superior told her that she can continue working on the document for two more days. To express her gratitude and show off her work ethic, Hermione has made it a goal to have the document ready by tomorrow afternoon. Hence, she’s depriving herself of needed sleep at two in the morning, fingers whacking away at the keyboard and eyes scanning the words on the screen.   
  
Occasionally, she takes small sips from the cup of coffee that sits dangerously close to her already half-busted laptop. It’s her third one tonight because she hasn’t yet eaten dinner and has no desire to do so. She sits alone in the kitchen area, her back hunched in a way that her late grandmother would be ashamed of. Most importantly, her mind is focused, and her will is impregnable.    
  
After the devastating phone call last night, Hermione listened to her mother for once and avoided using her phone the entire day while also refraining from logging into social media accounts and switching on the telly to catch sight of the daily news. Aside from feeling enormously better without the infinite string of deaths, violence, and suffering constantly being thrown in her face—she also finds it much easier to concentrate now that there are no more distractions around her, such as tempting shopping apps, bombarding notifications, interesting recommended videos, and hyperactive four-year-old boys she cannot refuse for the life of her.    
  
Frankly, she feels better than ever without her phone—and is it just the caffeine talking or does she truly feel as though she can do anything at the moment? Everything just feels so easy and—   
  
“Hey.”   
  
Despite herself, she instantly looks up at the sound of his voice, curious and captivated. She looks back down on the laptop keyboard once she sees Malfoy, shirtless, walking out of his bedroom and heading towards her. She continues her work, acting as though she hasn’t heard about his very existence ever in her life and giving him exactly what he has been handing to her every morning-after of their… salacious evenings.   
  
“What are you doing?” he asks as he takes a seat on the chair across from her. It’s the same question that his son loves to repeat, and the reminder makes her start to wonder if there are other similarities between the two.    
  
She stiffens at his friendly tone that’s so different from the one he spoke to her with earlier. She does not appreciate the fact that he shifts into a different persona whenever it’s convenient for him to do so, and she hates that he keeps showing up during the night. “Nothing.”   
  
The satisfying clicks of her keyboard as she types away are the only sounds that fill up the awkward silence that follows her reply.   
  
“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Malfoy points out after a while. Her nostrils flare, but she doesn’t give him a response this time, promising never to give him one again. However, she doesn’t anticipate her silence to turn into more space for Draco’s bullshit to occupy. “Thanks for watching Scorp, by the way. I know how troublesome he can be, and I really appreciate that you treat him nicely. He’s a smart kid, really; it’s just that, sometimes, he’s so eager to play games and such with others that he doesn’t know when to stop. To be honest, I’m trying to teach him some—”   
  
“Okay,” Hermione interrupts, having had enough of his rambling about his son. She doesn’t want to give in and tell him how sweet she thinks Scorpius is. She’s almost certain that he’s only talking about Scorpius because it’s another ploy anyway, and she just wants him to cut to the fucking chase already. “What’s your deal?”   
  
Malfoy frowns, confusion etching on his features. “What do you mean?”   
  
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. “Why do you think I’m willing to listen to you prattle on about your son when I’m clearly doing something else?”   
  
Hermione pretends not to be shocked at the hurt that momentarily crosses his eyes. “I just—well, I just thought that you—”   
  
“Listen,” she firmly cuts off, impatience getting the best of her, “I adore Scorpius. I really do. He’s a sweet little boy, and I wish nothing but the best for him—but at the same time, I cannot find it in myself to respect you. I do acknowledge and appreciate the things you’ve done for me, but I also cannot ignore the fact that you’ve been fucking me for two nights straight and pretending I don’t exist after both times. I cannot ignore that you act like two different people at night and the next morning. I’m expressing this right now because I am genuinely confused and even hurt. Here I am, thinking that our shared nights have been great and that you think the same, but when morning comes, you dismiss me and make me feel like I’m… disposable—and it sucks to go through that every day during this already awful situation, so I’m asking you right now; what do you want from me?”   
  
His eyes widen, grey eyes practically glinting under the light of the chandelier. “Hermione—”   
  
“I don’t want to hear a half-arsed apology. I want you to tell me what exactly is your intention in humiliating and hurting me like so.”   
  
“Can you at least let me finish my sentence?” he sardonically requests, scowling. When she nods begrudgingly, he continues. “First, I want to apologise  _ wholeheartedly  _ for hurting you and making you feel like rubbish. I want you to know that this is not half-arsed in any way and that it has never been my intention to hurt you. I hope that you can find it in you to forgive me because I genuinely did not mean to hurt you, but I acknowledge the fact that I did anyway. I want to take responsibility for my actions and apologise.”   
  
Hermione sniffs, trying to ignore the sincerity in his eyes. “Go on.”   
  
Malfoy licks his lower lip and heaves a sigh. “I don’t just sleep with random women—to be honest, I’ve never had anything quite like what’s happening between us. Before you, I’ve never slept with people I wasn’t in a committed relationship with. But I do enjoy it, though. Being with you is just… I guess that’s why I keep coming back. How about you? Have you done something like this before?”   
  
“No,” she mumbles, momentarily looking away from his gaze. Her impatience ebbs away, making room for admittance and understanding. “I’m not the type to hook up with no strings attached either, but I… I’m also fond of being intimate with you.”   
  
When she looks back at him, he has an endearing smile on his face that turns her steady heartbeat into an uncontrollable stampede. “I’m glad that we can admit that, and frankly, I want to pursue a relationship with you—a real one with commitment and strings attached and all.”   
  
Hermione’s heart swells at the thought. To be in a committed relationship with someone who can comfort her through warm hugs, awkward words, and slow sex is a dream. He indeed has glaring shortcomings and flaws, but she’s also willing to work past his mistakes and start anew with him. She’s curious to learn more about him—his fears, his desires, his failures, and his goals. She wants to see him as a normal person, not just a handsome man who comforts her with uncertain reassurances and makes her toes curl with his sweet lips and delightful fingers.   
  
“I’ve never really thought about starting a relationship with you before,” she confesses, staring deeply into his eyes and attempting to catch the vibe of his soul, “but, to be honest, I find myself not hating the idea. Maybe it’s because I’ve been feeling lonely since this lockdown began, and I’m desperate enough to form any kind of connection with any living being nearby. Truthfully, I’m not sure what it is, but I think I also want to… date you.”   
  
Draco reaches for her hands, clasping their fingers together. “I’m glad. I know we didn’t have a pretty start, but I’m eager to make it up to you. I… like you, Hermione Granger, I really do. I think you have a beautiful soul that’s kinder than you give it credit for.”   
  
“I’m not kind.” She shakes her head, squeezing his hands. “I’m just trying… trying my best, I guess. Sometimes, I don’t think it’s enough.”   
  
“We’ll always feel inadequate in many ways, I guess,” he says, shrugging, “but what I want to do is make you feel good—so good that you’ll lose the ability to think of your problems. Do you want that as well? Do you accept me as the idiotic man I am?”   
  
Hermione chuckles at his words. “I do. And I like you too. I may or may not have developed a teensy crush on you the first time I saw you, but I never really thought about it too much because of, well, because of everything that’s been happening. But I realise now that I crave your presence, your warmth, and even your voice whenever you’re apart from me. I want this, I want you, and I think I’ll forever accept you.”   
  
“I want you too,” he admits, his eyes darkening. “More than you can ever know.”   
  
Her lips curve into a slow, teasing grin. “Besides, how can I reject you when you still have to earn my forgiveness?”   
  
At her words, his smile drops, replaced by an uncomfortable frown. Her heart starts pounding against her chest—has she said something wrong, something to turn him off?   
  
“If we are going to start a relationship, I have one request,” he states stoically.    
  
“What is it?” Her grin fades as well, and she tries not to show her inner apprehension through her expression.   
  
Draco breathes out a heavy sigh. “I would like for our relationship to stay a secret between us for the time being.”   
  
Alarmed by the red flags blaring around him, Hermione pulls her hands away from his and shoots him a suspicious glare. “Why?”   
  
He rakes his white-blond hair with his fingers, running his tongue along his lower lip. “After my complicated relationship with Scorpius’s mother—we’ve broken up since before Scorpius’s birth, by the way. I don’t want you to think that I’m cheating on her with you or anything like that. Anyway, after that mess of a relationship, I haven’t really… well, truthfully, I’ve dated a couple of women in the last four years—but I’ve never let Scorpius know about them and those relationships. I’m not sure if you’ll understand this, but I don’t want to rush head-on into a relationship and tell Scorpius immediately because if he ends up liking you—which he does already if I’m being honest—and we end up not working out… well, it’s like I don’t want him to get his hopes up, you know? His mum already left us, and I just don’t want to put him through a similar experience.”   
  
She falters at the vulnerable look in his eyes but doesn’t quite drop her suspicions just yet. “What happened between you and Scorpius’s mother?”   
  
Draco stares down at the table, his face distorting into an unattractive sneer. “It’s honestly too complicated to talk about right now. I do want to let you know that we’re not in contact any longer. As I said, we broke up before she even knew she was pregnant with Scorpius. We took care of him for his first three years, without hookups or getting back together or anything like that, and she just, I don’t know—maybe she realised that she’s a terrible woman who doesn’t deserve to even be near Scorpius! I’ve never talked to her once since she left; to be honest, I don’t even want to look her in the fucking eye.”   
  
The venom-laced wrath coiled around Draco’s words shocks her, but she recognises his intense emotions as authentic enough for her to hang on to his voice and believe him. She lets her suspicions slip and rises to her feet, treading towards him to wrap her arms around him. “I’m sorry I asked. It’s not any of my business.”   
  
His hands grasp her hips, pulling her down to sit on his lap. “No, you deserve an explanation for my bullshit. I don’t blame you for being suspicious or for asking.”   
  
Hermione puts her right leg on his other side, fully facing him now. She cups his troubled face with her hands, easing his frown lines. “I’m not suspicious anymore. I trust you and your reasoning for wanting to keep this relationship a secret for now, but I want you to promise me that once our relationship stabilises, we tell Scorpius and others, okay?”   
  
“Okay.”   
  
“I don’t want to keep you a secret for too long. I want to be able to scream your name on top of my lungs, to show everyone how much I appreciate you.”   
  
The smile slips back into his face—a seductive turn-up of his lips. “You want to scream my name, huh? Why don’t I make that happen right now?”   
  
Her breath hitches at the sudden rise of temperature in the room. “And how are you going to do that?”   
  
“Well, I don’t know.” He effortlessly shrugs, his fingers teasingly tugging the hem of her night slip. “I can, maybe, kiss you.”   
  
“Kiss me?” Her eyes lock on his lips. “Where?”   
  
“Here.” His hand move to her face, thumb caressing her lips.    
  
“Just there?”   
  
He shakes his head, a brazen hand of his barely grazing her thigh before intimately cupping her clothed heat. “Here, too.”   
  
His fingers stroke her through the thin fabric of the knickers she wears, and she cannot resist letting out a breathy moan as she sees his eyes darkening in lust. “Draco.”   
  
He hums, lightly smiling as his other hand tucks her hair behind her ear. “Yes, Hermione?”   
  
“Please kiss me now.”   
  
The erotic sound of his dark laughter ignites a wildfire of need inside her, but she doesn’t have time to do anything about it because Draco finally dives in and captures her mouth, his large hands now both cupping each side of her face—completely engulfing her in his searing touch, dizzying scent, and the sweet tang of his lips.    
  
Eager to taste more of him, Hermione’s tongue swipes at his lips, her teeth nibbling down until he opens up. When their tongues clash, she swears she sees neon lights flashing before her closed eyes, and the feeling of his mouth moving against hers almost turns her blind from bliss. Her heartbeat quickens more and more the longer they devour each other’s mouths. As her breaths mingle with his, she feels herself slowly slipping away from her head; similar to being high or getting sloshed, kissing Draco takes her to an electrifying kind of heaven that’s illuminated by disco lights and decorated by all sorts of dizzying feelings.   
  
They part for air, but her mind is still stuck in the same foggy daze as she stares at Draco’s swollen lips.    
  
“Don’t look at me like that,” his gruff voice breaks through her haze, the only clear thing that shoots through the neon clouds in her brain caused by his kiss.   
  
She leans in and wantonly licks the entire shape of his lips. “Like what?”   
  
“Like you want to fuck me.”   
  
Her fingers trace the length of his throat. “But I do want to fuck you.”   
  
His hand grabs her chin, pulling her face slightly away from his and forcing her to gaze upon his hungry eyes. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous, aren’t you?”   
  
Hermione beams as she basks in his compliment. Before she can respond, Draco places a soft kiss on her lips, causing her to let out a relieved sigh at the tingles that erupt under her skin.   
  
“I don’t deserve you,” he continues saying, a self-loathing look in his eyes. “I feel like you deserve someone beautiful, too.”   
  
“You are beautiful,” she presses, stroking his face with her hands.    
  
“No,” he refutes, slightly frowning. “I’m not hideous at best, but you—you’re a truly beautiful person from your kind soul to your perfectly-sculpted body.”   
  
Her face heats up now, overwhelmed by his words. “Draco.”   
  
He just leans in again and brushes their lips against each other. “Let me do something for you. Let me repent for hurting you. Let me worship you as you deserve.”   
  
“What do you want to do?” she breathes against his mouth, pressing closer to let their lips meet shortly again.   
  
“I want to eat you out.”   
  
Her eyes slightly widen at his words, her breath hitching in her throat. “But I haven’t…”   
  
“Haven’t what?” His eyes narrow as he leans back against the chair.   
  
“I haven’t prepared.”   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
“I haven’t shaved,” she rushes the words out of her mouth. “I mean, I don’t really like shaving in the first place, but I have no knowledge about your preference, and you seemed okay with it the first two times, so—”   
  
He chuckles, kissing her once more. “Yeah, I’m alright with it. Well, to be honest, I would rather have you completely bare down there, but I’m okay either way. Besides, it’s your body, right? Don’t worry, we’ll have time to talk about our preferences later. Right now, I just want to make you come with my tongue.”   
  
“Yeah, okay,” she dumbly responds, nodding.   
  
“Okay,” he repeats, leaning closer to give her another kiss. This time, it’s much steamier and more intense.    
  
When he pulls away, she’s a tad light-headed, but she comes to her senses as Draco lifts her from her comfy seat on his lap, standing up to place her on the chair. Awkwardly, she watches as he moves the chair, creating more distance from the table. Then, he turns the chair to face west, and she’s forced to look up at him as he towers over her.   
  
“Are you alright?” he asks, his tone laced with laughter. He’s clearly seen her uncomfortable expression.   
  
“Yes,” she snaps. “I’m great!”   
  
“Good,” he says, still chuckling, “because you’re going to feel even greater when my face is buried between your thighs.”   
  
She rolls her eyes. “Now, you’re just talking shit.”   
  
He raises a single pale brow at her, smirking. “You don’t believe me?”   
  
“I’ll believe you when you’re actually doing it.”   
  
“Fair enough.” Malfoy shrugs, the smirk on his face only widening. He grabs the sides of her face and takes her breath away with one last kiss.   
  
Subconsciously, she follows his lips as they part from hers, aching for more. To her surprise, however, he’s already kneeling before her when she blinks open her eyes. His large hands clutch her knees and pry her legs open enough for his head to fit between them. She tries her best not to squirm at his intense gaze, not to succumb to her inner insecurities, and screws her eyes shut.    
  
Fingers tease at the hem of her slip once more, attempting to push it up her hips. Hermione lifts her bottom and reaches for the ends of her silk dress to hold it up for him before sitting back down. She vaguely hears Draco murmur a whisper of appreciation against her thighs.   
  
His hands still grasping her knees, Draco starts to softly nip and suck on her inner thighs, so close to where she wants him to be. Sweat drips down the sides of her face as she bites down on her lower lip, trying to hold back the pleas for now. His lips leave these infuriatingly-sweet kisses upon her skin, making her flinch most deliciously every time his mouth lands on certain sensitive areas she didn’t even know she has.    
  
It takes all of her willpower not to thrust against his head. Don’t get her wrong, she wants to, but she also wants to hold on to her pride for a little longer, to refuse his painstaking ministrations for a short while before she gives in.    
  
As it turns out, she hasn’t seen the last of his torture yet. When his hands begin to trickle across her thighs, gently massaging the skin closest to her aching heat, Hermione almost lets out a whine of frustration. It isn’t until his tongue runs up her clothed slit does she let herself release breathy sighs, his fingers dangerously dancing near her needy core.   
  
The heat of arousal pooling in her abdomen is beginning to overwhelm her now, and a few more minutes into his inflaming teasing, Hermione finally caves.    
  
“Please,” she whines as his lips trail across her thighs. “Please, Draco,”   
  
He takes a small section of her heated flesh into his mouth, sucking on her skin until she cries out.    
  
“Please,” she tries again, her hands shaking in anticipation while she continues to hold up her slip. “Please, please. I want—”   
  
She feels his head pulls away from in between her thighs. “Please what, Granger? What do you want, exactly?”   
  
“Please kiss me there instead; I don’t want any more teasing, please.”   
  
“Kiss you where, darling?” he asks, the smugness in his tone turning her close to tears.    
  
Blindly, she reaches for his hand on her thigh and guides it to her wet heat. “Here.”   
  
“Well, since you ask so nicely,” he says, gently pushing aside her hand. He places one more kiss on both of her inner thighs before finally pulling down her knickers, hands caressing her legs as he completely takes them off of her.   
  
Propping her legs open wider, Draco dives in between her thighs. Unable to help herself, a soft cry escapes her throat when his mouth first makes contact with her dripping sex. Two of his fingers stroke her opening, playing with the embarrassing amount of her wetness soaking her entrance. His tongue, however, is hyper-focused on flicking her swollen clit, and his lips suck on her little nub.    
  
Despite her initial goal to make him work as hard as possible, Hermione’s legs clamp around his head, ensuring that he won’t leave her hanging. She’s left a whimpering mess when he hums and moans around her clit, legs thrashing and face scrunching up.    
  
“Oh, God!” is one of the common phrases that are sure to exit her lips tonight. This time though, she finds herself whispering the words over and over in pleasure when Draco’s tongue repeatedly swipes along her slit.    
  
He gives her sopping entrance several long licks whilst his fingers flick and rub her button. Her hips begin to desperately grind against his face, causing him to let out a pained groan that sends pleasant vibrations all over her wet centre. A hand of his stops her movements, and he momentarily pauses in his tongue-lashing to deeply inhale, pressing his nose to her unshaven pubic hair and simply breathing in her scent.   
  
A muffled word leaves his lips, a foreign curse word she’s heard once or twice from him before. He licks up her slit again, making her hips buck forward in desperation. His hand stops her again, and several beats pass before he begins again.   
  
Feeling him tracing vague circular shapes on her clit with the tip of his tongue, Hermione moans in delight. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”   
  
His two fingers scissor her slit open, slipping inside her hot entrance. Once his fingers are coated with her arousal, Draco makes the come hither gesture inside her, and as a response, she throws her head back and moves her hand to fist his hair.   
  
It doesn’t take long before she’s so wet that every slight movement Draco does between her thighs makes a grating sloppy sound. He seems to notice that her arousal reaches an extreme level and begins supping up her juices, his fingers still sliding in and out of her at a rapid pace.   
  
“Draco,” she begs, tears welling up in her eyes from the intensity of her pleasure. “Draco, please.”   
  
At this point, she doesn’t even know what she’s asking him for. All she knows is she certainly does not want him to stop—not when she feels herself brimming closer and closer to the edge.   
  
As if sensing her impending orgasm, Draco speeds up his fingers and directs his focus on her clit once more—his tongue seemingly spelling out his name on her clit to brand her as his.   
  
When his fingers accidentally probe the most sensitive spot inside her, Hermione feels as though he’s pushed her over the cliff of her building orgasm and caused her to give into utter bliss much sooner than expected.   
  
She comes silently, only letting out a long, satiated breath. Her hand loses grip of Draco’s hair as she trembles from the aftershocks. Once she’s pulled back to reality, the only two things she feels are the mind-numbing pleasure buzzing underneath her skin and Draco’s small kisses upon her quivering wet sex.   
  
“Are you alright?” he asks after his last kiss is placed on her thigh, voice tinged with concern.    
  
Not even daring to open her eyes, she simply nods, willing her heart rate to slow.   
  
“Are you ready for more?”   
  
At that question, Hermione is forced to shoot up a glare at him. “Isn’t your jaw tired or something?”   
  
He shrugs, rising to his feet. “I can go for a few more hours.”   
  
“Really?”    
  
Taking her into his arms and lifting her boneless form, Draco takes his seat back and puts her back on his lap. “Yes, really.”   
  
Hermione gasps when her sensitive centre brushes against his straining erection, shivering at the thought of experiencing more earth-shattering orgasms. Sighing as she slowly moves against him, Hermione presses a soft kiss on his jaw. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of this?”   
  
“I want to,” he admits, pushing her hair away from her face, “but this is your night, and I wanted to make it up to you, remember?”   
  
“Yeah?” She whimpers when the rough fabric of his trousers brush against her swollen nub. “Why don’t you make it up to me in other ways?”   
  
He breathes out a husky laugh, his hips beginning to thrust up against her. “What do you have in mind?”   
  
And thus begins a long night filled with passionate lovemaking instead of the work she promised herself she would complete.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point in the story, I feel inclined to tell my readers that Hermione and Draco's relationship here is not ideal, to say the least. Frankly, their relationship here isn't healthy and mostly based on their personal issues. That being said, they are still both unwilling to break apart from each other. And I still want you guys to keep reading until the very end! Just because my interpretation of the prompt isn't the healthiest of relationships doesn't mean you guys can't still enjoy our favourite couple going through the pains of romance! I hope you still like this story! 
> 
> P.S. I am trying my best not to shit on my writing while writing these Author's Notes lol.


	4. THERNODYNAMICS, THERE'S NO ESCAPE

The next morning, Hermione finds herself captivated by the secretive smile Draco sends her way. She gives back a smile of her own, blushing and glancing away when his eyes rake over her body appreciatively.  
  
Hearing a loud yawn, Hermione turns to see the resident four-year-old boy, still in his adorable dungarees, walking towards the kitchen, his stuffed dragon in hand. “Good morning, Scorpius.”  
  
The boy smiles but does not respond, climbing his way up a chair and resting his head on the table. She realises in horror that he’s sitting one chair away from where she did… inappropriate things with his father, sending a silent prayer to the kind deity that willed Scorpius not to sit there.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she stalks towards the mini-fridge to begin preparing her breakfast, all the while trying to ignore Draco’s presence nearby. From her peripheral vision, she can see that he’s mixing up fruits in a bowl whilst giving monosyllabic responses to the person he’s speaking with on his iPad. Judging from his nods and shrugs, Hermione assumes that he’s currently in a video call.  
  
She pulls out an unopened cup of store-bought blueberry yoghurt, not really in the mood for anything heavy; truth be told, she hasn’t had a heavy breakfast in quite a while now. Back in London, she couldn’t start her day without consuming a warm glass of milk, eggs, sausages, and buttered toast. Perhaps her deteriorating mental state has something to do with it, but she can’t find the appetite to eat so much nowadays.  
  
Maybe it’s because of her hidden guilt. Maybe it’s her subconscious way of punishing herself for being unable to do anything of value to help those who are dying of starvation, sickness, and prejudice. Whatever it is that motivates her body not to eat, she’s honestly alright with it. How can she make herself full when others are in a constant state of hunger anyway?  
  
Shaking the depressing thoughts out of her mind, Hermione focuses on the task at hand, realising she needs to fetch a spoon. The problem is, to get a spoon, she has to pass by Draco and risk the chance of exposing herself to the person he’s talking to. Maybe she can kindly ask Draco to get one for her without being seen, but then again, she’ll risk being _heard_.  
  
Fuck it. No one will assume they’re in a relationship from simply hearing her ask him for a spoon, right? It’s just a polite request, and if he complies, then he’s just being a kind and respectful person.  
  
“Hey, Draco, can you get me a spoon?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she resists the urge to smack her forehead in shame. Not only did she speak it way too loudly, but she also called him by his first name and interrupted him mid-speech! Can someone bury her in the ground now?  
  
Draco turns to her, a single brow raised. “Uh, sure.”  
  
“ _Who’s that?_ ” the man he’s talking to immediately inquires. “ _You have a girl with you when we’re all supposed to be social distancing? Malfoy, I never thought you to be a rule-breaker!”_ _  
__  
_Although the man’s tone is clearly sarcastic, Hermione cannot help but cringe at his words. She should’ve just downed the bloody yoghurt without the spoon! God, this is too humiliating for her to handle this early in the morning!  
  
Ignoring her obvious embarrassment and the man’s teasing, Draco reaches for a spoon and quickly hands it to her. “Here.”  
  
She looks down at the floor, her cheeks flaming. “Thanks.”  
  
“Yeah,” he acknowledges, turning back to his iPad. Swiftly, he picks up the bowl and slides it across the dining table in front of his sleepy son.  
  
“ _Who was that?_ ” the man asks again. “ _She sounds like she’s from England, too. Here I thought, you’re stuck in a foreign country, alone and lonely, but all this time, you’re actually on a holiday with a bloody popsy?_ ” _  
__  
_Frozen in her position, Hermione watches as Draco runs a hand through his hair and releases an annoyed sigh. “We’re stuck in this country and hotel suite together until the airports open up. There are a lot of tourists trapped here, and they’ve only prepared one quarantine hotel, so I’m forced to share this suite with her. She’s practically my flatmate; that’s it. Nothing more.”  
  
“ _Is she hot?_ ” At this question, Hermione forces herself to clutch her cup of yoghurt and spoon in her chest and walk out of the kitchen area. She doesn’t need to hear the rest of a conversation she isn’t even privy to.  
  
Before she can make it to her bedroom though, Draco’s voice rings across the room, reverberating in her mind and soul. “I already told you she’s nothing to me! I don’t really know why we’re still talking about her when I just said she’s nobody!”  
  
Her heart cracks at the scathing vehemence in his tone, and a familiar ache that she now associates with morning-afters makes itself known in her chest. However, she doesn’t acknowledge her pain until the door to her bedroom shuts close.  
  
Once hidden and inside, she sinks to her knees and throws her head back to prevent the shallow tears from falling.  
  
Why does he always end up hurting her in the morning?

* * *

Even as Hermione’s eyes stay fixated on her laptop screen, her mind is far away from the waiting document she badly needs to work on. She cannot help but drift back to Draco’s hurtful words now and then, the ache in her chest too overwhelming to ignore. Although liquid has built up in her tear ducts several times this past hour, she does not let a drop of tear fall down her cheeks—fearing that once she cries again, she’ll never be able to stop.  
  
Hermione has been called many awful names in her life before—bleeding-heart activist, attention-seeker, try-hard, and a long list of sexist slurs she doesn’t have time to mention.  
  
But even after all of that, nothing trumps being called a ‘nobody’ by someone she respects and admires. At least the people who call her a bitch and a slut and a whore and a cunt—they don’t know her at all. They’ve never reached inside her and seen the darkest pits of her very soul.  
  
Those kinds of derogatory terms never truly hurt, but name-calling, she finds, rips her heart from her chest when it comes from a person who’s seen her at her worst.  
  
And it hurts even more now that she realises the words Draco threw at her confirm her deepest fears about herself; it’s one of her greatest fears, being considered as a nobody. She’s always been afraid of ending up as someone who left no outstanding impact on the world, of being nothing or no one even after her heartfelt attempts to make a change. The fact that Draco is, at the very least, aware of her fears of being worthless makes every word hurt like a thousand needles prickling her weakest points.  
  
She tries to tell herself that he didn’t mean it in that way, that he only wanted to reinforce his inclination to keep their relationship a secret—that’s the truth, after all, but she can’t help but resent him for his words. His words make her doubt herself and fall head-first into another seemingly-inescapable depression of heartbreak.  
  
Hermione startles when the familiar tune of her ringtone starts, muffled by the two pillows atop her phone. Crawling, she slips her hand under the pillows and takes the phone out, heart pulsing in her throat as soon as she sees the name of the caller.  
  
 _Mum._

At once, paranoid thoughts swarm her brain.  
  
What if her mother is calling to bring more bad news? Is she alright? What if she answers and her mum greets her in a voice so hoarse and dry that she won’t be able to understand her words? Is she dying? Is her dad already dead? What if it’s a nurse calling to tell her that both of her parents are gone?  
  
A lump forms in her throat, and she’s forced to swallow it down to refrain from bursting into pathetic sobs. She successfully fights off her emotions, but she still cannot find the courage within her to accept the call. Momentarily, she ponders not accepting it at all and letting her phone ring for hours, thinking that she won’t receive more bad news if she does so.  
  
In the end, her concern for her parents’ well-being wins, and she rushes to answer the call before her mother—or whoever is on the other end—gives up.  
  
“Mum?” she says, not long after she presses the phone to her ear.  
  
Hermione flinches at the heart-wrenching sound of her mother’s dry coughs before she speaks in a breathy tone, “ _Hello, darling. How are you?_ ”  
  
“I’m fine, Mum. How about you?”  
  
Her mother sighs. “ _Well, I’m hospitalised now too, and I’m sure you can tell that I’m a little sick—but don’t you worry about me too much, okay? I only called to tell you that your father is showing signs of a slow recovery. He told me that he hasn’t been calling you because he doesn’t want to worry you even more—oh, and I also called to check on you. Are you sure you’re alright, luv? You seem distressed._ ”  
  
“It’s nothing,” she lies, shoulders tensing. “Both of you get well for me, okay? When I get home, I want to give you both a big hug.”  
  
“ _That’s very sweet._ ” The sound of her mother’s hoarse yet genuine laughter brings a smile to Hermione’s face. “ _But don’t worry too much, Hermione. Your father and I will be fine in no time. Now, tell me what’s going on with you—and don’t tell me it’s nothing; I’ll know when you lie._ ”  
  
Her smile dropping in an instant, Hermione heaves a long sigh. “Remember when I told you I’m stuck in a hotel room with a guy and his son?”  
  
Her mother stays silent for a few seconds. “ _Hermione, if this man has touched you without your consent—”_  
  
“No! It’s not like that! He didn’t… take advantage of me or anything like that. We’re actually in a relationship, but he wants to keep it a secret for now because of his son.”  
  
“ _Darling, I know you’re an intelligent young lady,_ ” her mum starts, only slightly hesitating, “ _and you probably know this already, but I just want to remind you to always_ protect _yourself in every way possible. I know you’re an adult now, but there is a virus right now that is very_ —”  
  
Although her mother cannot physically see her, Hermione rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mum. I know.”  
  
“ _Good, because this is the worst possible time to get pregnant._ ”  
  
Even though she’s well aware that she’s taking her birth control pills regularly, Hermione can’t help but grow nervous at her mum’s words before quickly brushing them away. “I know.”  
  
“ _Then, what’s the problem, luv?_ ”  
  
“Well, it just seems like he has two different personalities at times,” she hesitates, choosing her words carefully. “He’s very… sweet at night, but when morning comes, he always seems so aloof and unapproachable. I mean, we’ve already settled the issue yesterday, but this morning, he was in a video call with someone, and he just called me a ‘nobody’. And it really hurt. I know we’re supposed to stay a secret for now, but, I don’t know, I guess I’m overreacting a little, huh?”  
  
“ _No, you’re not,_ ” her mother assures, her dry voice still as soothing as a childhood lullaby. “ _Your feelings are completely valid, darling, and if you don’t want him to do the same thing again, you should communicate your pain to him. Talk to him. I’m sure if he’s as sweet as you said, then he’ll understand and apologise_.”  
  
“You’re right as always, Mum.” Hermione sighs, letting herself recline against the pillows.  
  
“ _And if you’re tired of his inconsistency, just move on,_ ” her mother continues in a more scathing tone. “ _Truthfully, I think you’re better off without this man, and I would rather you live out the rest of this awful year without ever interacting with him again._ ”  
  
“I can’t do that,” she replies, not really knowing why she cannot stay away from Draco for too long.  
  
“ _I know; I can tell you like him for some reason._ ” Hermione can practically hear the sound of her mother’s eye-roll. “ _But still, never get too attached to the temporary kind of people. I know it’s just the beginning, and everything feels like it can and should last forever, but trust me when I say that men like him will probably vanish into thin air once he’s able to leave. If he’s not committed enough to stay consistent, how can you expect him to be fully committed to a relationship with you? Do you understand me, Hermione? In most cases, men are just not worth the time_.”  
  
Her chest feeling lighter, Hermione smiles and nods resolutely. “Yes, Mum.”  
  
It’s just another example of her mother’s infinite wisdom. Everything her mother just said has most likely been tested and proven. She’s always stood as the voice of reason within their household, and Hermione has never seen her falter once. Her mother has laid out everything in front of her—every single step towards the right decision, and everything’s suddenly clear, the entire path brightly-lit with stable lamp posts.  
  
Her mother believes that she should just distance herself from Draco, and it’s probably the smartest thing she can do in this situation.  
  
Too bad she rarely listens to her mother’s advice.

* * *

Instead of letting her emotions take the wheel, Hermione decides to talk to Draco first before doing anything drastic. She truly wants this relationship to work, if only because her previous romantic dalliances have ended with her either jumping into conclusions or prioritising her feelings before her partner’s. This time though, she feels like Draco is worth every effort—even if he is a little clueless most of the time. Besides, the sex is too mind-blowing to give up now.  
  
As midnight strikes, Hermione approaches Draco with determined steps towards the sitting area of the suite. He sits alone on the grey settee, his eyes glued on the telly, so she assumes that Scorpius must be asleep already—although Draco leaves his son alone with her quite often now, he never distances himself too far away from him when they’re both home. Not that any of them considers this stale hotel room as a real home, but on her worst days, she does tend to exaggerate her attachments to objects, places, and people.  
  
Draco’s head turns to look in her direction once her footsteps become loud enough, and as soon as he sees her, a brilliant smile sparks up his entire face. She takes a seat beside him, grinning as his eyes trail over her body and mentally patting herself on the back for thinking ahead and wearing the skimpiest nightdress she can find.  
  
She watches as his gaze linger on her visible nipples, his tongue running along the seam of his lower lip. “Hello.”  
  
Chuckling at his breathy tone, Hermione leans in to give him a peck on the cheek and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing herself closer to him. “Hi.”  
  
“You look great,” he whispers into her neck, his arms entangling around her waist. “I can’t wait to fuck you into the night.”  
  
She giggles as his mouth feathers across her collarbone. “I want to do something before that.”  
  
“What is it?” he asks, one of his hands slipping under her dress.  
  
Pulling away, she slaps his hand away and sits back. “We need to talk about something first.”  
  
A flicker of irritation scratches across her chest when Draco’s gaze focuses on her breasts, quickly covering any possible distractions with a scatter cushion. Draco, with a sheepish expression, looks up. “What do you want to talk about?”  
  
“Well, do you remember this morning?” she begins, averting her gaze. “You were talking to some bloke on video call, and he asked about me when he heard my voice, remember?”  
  
He frowns, confused. “What about it?”  
  
“Well, I just want to tell you that I was hurt when you said I was practically a nobody,” she quickly explains, itching to get the words out. “I know we agreed to a secret relationship, and I may be overreacting, but I want to say that I was really hurt by what you said about me. I’m not asking for an apology; it’s just that it took a few hours for me to move on from that because it hurt me so much, but—”  
  
“Fuck, I keep messing up, don’t I?” Draco turns away from her, holding his head in his hands. “Shit, Hermione, I’m sorry.”  
  
Smiling, she moves closer to him and puts a consoling arm over his shoulder. “Thank you for apologising, I suppose, and I forgive you. I just don’t want to keep thinking that you’ll hurt me after each night we’re together, you know?”  
  
“I know, but I can’t fucking stop for some reason.” He sighs, trying to get away from her touch—as though he thinks he’s undeserving of her attempts to comfort him. “I’m such a mess; why do you even give me a chance?”  
  
She wraps herself around him, wanting him to feel every bit of her warmth and appreciation for him. Softly nipping the shell of his ear, Hermione whispers, “Because I want to be with you. You’ve seen me at my worst and never once judged me. I think we can be great together; I believe that we can accomplish amazing things if we truly give this— _us_ —a fighting chance.”  
  
Draco leans into her touch, finally accepting her embrace. “You’re too good to me.”  
  
“Someone has to be, right?” she teases, kissing his cheek.  
  
Slowly, he faces her, staring at her lips for a few agonising seconds. “I don’t deserve you, and I’m afraid I never will—even in the next lifetime. You’re so good, and I’m—”  
  
She interrupts him by pressing her mouth to his, kissing his next words away. “It’s over now. Just, please. Please promise never to hurt me again. I respect your decision to keep this relationship a secret—for now—but don’t ever call me a nobody again.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he speaks, shame evident in his voice. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
Sighing, she hugs him tighter. “I know.”  
  
“You’re not a nobody,” he declares, the sincerity and determination in his eyes shocking her. “You’ll never be a nobody. You’re everything to me, and I… appreciate you so much.”  
  
Her heart pounds against her chest as she takes in the adoring look on his face. “I appreciate you as well.”  
  
He grabs her face and kisses her, swallowing her whole most blissfully. His lips are hot, like searing flames moving against her quivering mouth. Her hands reach for his face, desperate to feel his warmth all over her skin. It isn’t until he breathes against her mouth that she feels fire licking at her lower belly, spreading into thin branches of inferno across her arteries.  
  
She’s always loved his kiss, always been enamoured with the way he puts her under the most blazing spell. It’s different tonight though; they’re both different from their previous pleasure-filled trysts. Every movement of their lips, every contact of her palm against his skin, every airy moan passing through their mouths and slipping into their souls—they do everything with certain feelings now, and she can feel her affection for him growing inside her, wanting to break free and make itself known.  
  
When their tongues meet, she sighs in relief, her core pulsing with every motion of their mouths. She laps up at his lips as though he’s becoming her favourite treat, and he punishes her tongue, sucking on it until she whimpers in delight.  
  
His mouth begins to trace her jawline after Hermione pushes him away to intake a couple of breaths, kissing the shape and structure of her skull.  
  
A smile pulling at the ends of her lips, she kisses him one more time on the lips before pushing his face away from hers. “I want to do something.”  
  
Draco frowns, impatience painting his expression. “What is it?”  
  
She caresses his cheeks with her fingers, biting down on her lower lip in slight apprehension. “I want to repay you for last night.”  
  
“What do you mean?” His grip on her waist tightens.  
  
“I want to…” she trails off, her hand travelling from his face to his crotch, lightly squeezing his hardening member through his trousers, “... with my mouth.”  
  
His eyes darken, and a knee-weakening smirk slips into his face. “Tell me again. With more _explicit_ words.”  
  
She leans in and captures his mouth shortly before backing away with a seductive grin of her own. “I want to suck your cock.”  
  
The kiss that he gives her immediately after her last word sends a magnitude of ecstasy through her soul, and she almost forgets to breathe at the intensity of his scorching touch.  
  
“Are you sure?” he asks after he pulls away, poking her lips with his tongue. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re being pressured into this because of what I did for you last night.”  
  
Hermione nods, rubbing her nose against his. “I want to do it. I want to taste you.”  
  
“Okay,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against hers one last time. “Frankly, I’ve been fantasising about your pretty lips going down my hard dick since the first time I kissed you.”  
  
Laughing at the absurdity of his words, Hermione leans away from him. “You’re such a man.”  
  
“You love it.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
They stay silent for the longest time, and she’s content just by taking in and being blessed by his radiant smile. In the future, she’s certain she’ll look back at this moment and think of it as one of the happiest she’s ever been in her life, but even then, she’ll never know why. She will never know the answer to the everlasting question—why does she feel so happy when Draco smiles? Why does she feel so young and yet so ready to take on the world at the same time whenever he looks at her _like that?_ Why does she cherish his smile like she does precious memories from a freer time?  
  
Hermione doesn’t know, and she knows she never will, so she settles for kissing him instead—an action that has never given her anything less than unadulterated bliss.  
  
She uses her lips to write on his skin the words she knows she doesn’t yet dare to say aloud. She begins her adventurous story on his temple, continuing to the bridge of his nose, to his lips, to his chin, his Adam’s apple, and all the way to his navel where small blond hairs tickle her chin.  
  
Palming his prominent erection, Hermione licks her way down to the jutting tip peaking from the waistband of his trousers. With lightly-trembling fingers, she unbuttons, unzips, and pulls down his remaining clothing, tossing them alongside his discarded jumper she removed earlier.  
  
Unashamed yet nervous, she admires his curved manhood in front of where it stood. She takes his member in her hand, elated at the shudders that run through Draco’s body at the slightest touch, and begins to stroke him.  
  
After a couple of seconds of slow and gentle pumping, Draco wraps his hand around hers, tightening her hold on him and quickening her pace. When she questions him with one look, he simply breathes out a shaky chuckle and shrugs. “I like it rough.”  
  
“Really?” she can’t help but tease. His words completely contradict the way he tends to fuck her, but she doesn’t mind, only following his demands and beginning to move her hand rapidly up and down the length of him.  
  
“Really,” he grits out as her other hand starts to tread across his balls, the tips of her fingers teasing his flesh before she cups him completely.  
  
When he removes his hand from hers, Hermione leans down and licks his tip, making circular motions with her tongue on his slit. Gratified by his long groan, she repeats her tonguing, even leaving gentle kisses directly on his dripping slit.  
  
It’s such an erotic experience to pleasure him with her mouth, but something keeps distracting her.  
  
Pulling her lips away from him, Hermione looks up and meets his intense lustful gaze. “Can you… can you hold up my hair? It’s getting everywhere, and I—”  
  
“Yeah,” he says under his breath, stuck in a daze. Thankfully, he understands and gathers her thick curls into a faux ponytail in his grip.  
  
Satisfied, she beams at him and gets back to work, expressing her gratitude through opening her lips and finally taking him in her mouth. His dick jolts when his tip prods at her throat, and she runs up her tongue against him as a warning. She loves to pleasure Draco, but she isn’t sure if she’s willing to gag all over his erection just yet.  
  
Instead, she settles on a length she can manage and begins sucking, narrowing her cheeks and pursing her lips as good as she can around his girth. He thrusts his hips in time with her suction, her nose overwhelmed by his musky scent with each of his grinding motion. Hermione does not mind it though; she loves inhaling through her nostrils and breathing in his arousing smell.  
  
The heavy feel of him weighing on her tongue shoots sparks of flaming desire to her core, reinvigorating her mouth and causing her to bob her head quicker as she licks up his length, eager to taste more of him. Her increase in speed results in Draco’s grunts and short moans—quiet and small sounds that invoke an impassioned desire in her entire body.  
  
When her jaw begins to numb, she reluctantly lets his cock slip out of her mouth, gripping and stroking him instead. She lets herself marvel at his size, slowing down her rhythm during the most unpredictable moment just to hear him groan.  
  
Feeling his hand on her hair trying to push her back down, Hermione briefly smiles up at him before swirling her tongue around his rigid member. She wraps her lips around his tip again, lapping up the pre-come that collected there and humming in delight when his essence reaches her tongue.  
  
“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, forcibly pushing her down on his member. “Do that again.”  
  
She does what she’s told and more, encasing his balls with her hand and letting him into her mouth again. Ignoring the pain, Hermione pushes through until he’s completely settled in her mouth, his hard tip scratching her throat.  
  
After that, Draco snaps.  
  
He starts to fuck the inside of her mouth raw, grinding his hips mercilessly and yanking at her hair. Completely stunned by the eroticism of his roughness, Hermione lets him do as he pleases, desperate to make him succumb to utter pleasure. She rubs her thighs in an attempt to pleasure herself as he repeatedly rams into her mouth.  
  
Her slick wetness soaking her knickers, Hermione helplessly moans around his cock, all the while caressing his bollocks. The mere thought of him losing control is enough to make her hump the air, her hips thrusting into nothing as he continues to use her mouth for his pleasure.  
  
She almost does not realise it when he ejaculates, but it’s hard to miss the jets of his sperm spraying her face. Curious, she sticks her tongue out and catches a drop of his come, instantly swallowing once she’s had a taste. It’s not like she hates his natural flavour or anything like that, but Hermione is grateful that he pulls away last minute instead of forcing her to drink his essence.  
  
Feeling her curls fall around her face, she reaches out and winces when she recognises the sticky texture stuck in her baby hair.  
  
Draco notices her reaction. “Don’t worry. I’ll wash it off you later.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes snap back to his face, his rough voice alone creating a ball of unresolved sexual tension in her core. “It’s okay.”  
  
He looks at her with a strange look for an uncomfortable minute or two before sighing and lifting her to make her sit on his lap. “Thank you.”  
  
Knowing that she has a bit of his come spread across her lips, Hermione grins cheekily and captures his mouth. “You’re welcome.”  
  
“That was uncalled for!” he practically cries out, wiping away at his mouth.  
  
She just laughs, putting her arms around him and burying her face into his neck.  
  
“I can feel you, you know,” he speaks up seconds later. A gasp flies out of her lips when she feels his softening member press against her aroused centre. “You’re dripping.”  
  
“You don’t have to do anything about it.”  
  
Draco pushes her away to make sure her gaze is meeting his. “I want to.”  
  
Her brain becomes overtaken by lust when he sends a smirk at her, her hips grinding down on his still-heated length. “You’re not tired?”  
  
He softly laughs—the sound reminiscent of rain, ocean waves, and other pleasant things. “No.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
That night, they do not give in to exhaustion until three in the morning, and to say the least, Hermione regrets only a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end! Hope you guys are enjoying this lol. This story has been difficult for me to write in one month because of its length, but even after so many delays, I managed to finish it in 17 days! Hurray for me! I'm so exhausted, actually. I'm promising myself to settle for a drabble for the next month's prompt! Tell me what you think of this in the comments! And please, kindly leave a kudos! :)


	5. OR PERHAPS I'VE FOUND A HOME?

After that night on the settee, everything changes for the better.   
  
Draco smiles at her more often now, and most evenings, they sit beside each other to feast upon his delicious cooking. Ever since that one particular night she tried to make a blueberry pie as a surprise for his birthday last week, he has never let her put a single finger on any kitchen appliance again. Hermione is almost offended by his intense dislike of her cooking, but she’s certain that his attitude has something to with how her attempt at a blueberry pie almost burnt the entire hotel into the ground.    
  
There are other chores designated to her—chores that are far more suitable to her lacklustre home-making skills. She usually ends up being the one who does the washing and grocery shopping while he focuses on housework. Even though she knows he’s one of the internally messiest people she’s ever met, Draco Malfoy is surprisingly addicted to keeping things neat and clean.   
  
Weeks into this strange yet homely dynamic, Hermione begins to think of the hotel suite as a substitute for home. Or perhaps it’s less about the setting and more about the two people she’s constantly surrounded by. Perhaps she’s learned how to make lemons out of lemonade, to make something beautiful out of this god-awful circumstance, and to make a home out of Draco’s searing gaze and Scorpius’s sweet smiles.    
  
Hermione doesn’t listen to the news every single hour of the day anymore, doesn’t force herself to see everything that’s going on in the world, and it has done wonders to her mental state. This does not mean she’s turning a blind eye to the injustice and deaths; she still supports ideologies and movements she’s passionate about, but this time, she’s doing it differently. This time, she’s making sure to take care of her mind as well, never wanting to run back to that dark and lonely place in her head.   
  
Although she falters now and then, often breaking down when her mother calls—sounding less healthy each time—the constant warmth present in Draco’s touch often pulls her back up. He always tries to comfort her with pseudo-philosophical words and fake-deep phrases, being the aspirant poet that he is. But if she’s being honest, she mostly finds herself consoled by having him inside her, moving in the mind-numbing glacial pace of his strokes.   
  
Maybe it’s because of the momentary distraction that comes with their nightly lovemaking. Maybe it’s because of the drunk-like mist that encloses her mind after every stupendous orgasm. Maybe it’s because of the way her heart is falling for him—so slowly yet surely.   
  
Since the first night she took him in her mouth, Hermione has lost count of how many times she lost herself in him. They’ve done it all over the suite, too—in all kinds of positions. Her favourite so far has to be the time when he fucked her from behind on the coffee table until the glass cracked and her hipbone bruised, or the time when she rode him in the bathtub, or when he licked down from her clit to her anus and made her body sing in pleasure, or when she stroked him during one of their film nights, or when—   
  
The point is, Hermione doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of being with Draco, of feeling the same soft emotion blossoming in her chest every time their eyes meet, and she simply cannot wait for him to get home, so she can experience all those nice things all over again.   
  
Also, there is something that she’s been aching to tell him; something that has been brewing in her mind for days now. She just hopes her words will not change anything in their accustomed dynamic. Or if there is a certain inevitable change to come, she wishes it will be a positive one.

* * *

With a fluffy towel wrapped around her frame, Hermione pads towards her bedroom, sighing in relief once she twists the doorknob open and finds Scorpius already asleep on her bed, lying on his side while a video of some children’s show continuously plays on the screen of his father’s smartphone. She adores the boy with all her heart, but he was especially playful and mischievous today, tiring her out with his childish pranks and games. Although his youthful spirit makes her fondly look back on her childhood memories, she’s glad that she can finally have a rest now that he’s deep asleep.   
  
Smiling softly, Hermione grabs her phone and snaps a quick picture of her adorable little boy, mentally noting to show it to Draco when he gets home. Even though Scorpius is not biologically hers, she loves and values him like she does her family, and she just appreciates the positivity that permeates the atmosphere whenever he’s near; in a way, Scorpius is like a beaming ray of sunshine in her life—something she looks forward to seeing every morning.   
  
Her smile drops though when she realises that the boy fell asleep without turning off his gadget again. It’s becoming a bad habit of his, and she makes sure to lightly scold him for it later. After all, she’s sure Draco wouldn’t appreciate his phone dying as soon as he gets home.   
  
After raking through her curls with a layer of curl cream covering her fingers, spreading moisturising lotion on her brown skin, and pulling on her most comfortable jumper and a pair of shorts; Hermione situates herself beside Scorpius, adjusting his position into one that’s less likely to make his neck ache when he wakes and reaching for the smartphone that’s slowly slipping from his sleeping grip.   
  
Once the device is in her hands, her eyebrows rise in mild shock when she sees the endless notifications of messages popping out on the screen. The messages are so copious that she accidentally taps on one of them whilst trying to exit the video-sharing app Scorpius was watching his videos on.   
  
“Shit,” she mutters when her accidental tap redirects her to whatever messaging app Draco uses.   
  
Hermione almost clicks away in irritation, but her attention gets stolen by a strange word that keeps appearing in the messages, and she’s far too curious now to ignore the niggling turns in her stomach and the alarms going off in her head.   
  
Little does she know, everything on that little group chat will change her view of Draco forever.

* * *

Hermione waits for Draco to finish showering first before confronting him.    
  
As soon as he stepped into the hotel suite, she told him—from a safe distance, mind you—that they needed to talk about something important after he rinses off possible viruses and germs clinging to his body. Although a cruel part of her wants him to suffer in fretful anticipation—to make him bite his nails in anxiousness in the shower while he thinks about what she needs to say to him—the real reason why she wants him to wash up first is that she’s also giving herself enough time to further process the shocking information she stumbled upon on his phone.   
  
Out of all her imagined scenarios with Draco, this certainly hasn’t been one of them. In fact, keeping this kind of secret doesn’t suit him at all. Over the past few weeks, she thought she learned so much about him—his innermost fears, ambitions, and desires, and the things he’s capable of. As it turns out, she was wrong. And now, sitting on the grey settee with a small frown whilst she waits for Draco to reappear, she feels… almost humiliated.   
  
Never mind the fact that she’s also immensely disappointed and hurt; this kind of humiliation sinks deep into the skin and buries itself under the coarseness of her bones. She feels as though she’s wasted so much time with him,  _ for  _ him, and she’s desperate to turn back time and stop herself from committing this mistake—from ever trusting him.   
  
Surprisingly, the pain she’s experiencing is minimal. For the first time in this hellish lockdown, she doesn’t feel the need to cry, or break down, or try to lop her hair off—or do stupid shit like sleep with a fucking con artist, for example.   
  
The messages on his phone flash in her head, plastering themselves on every wrinkle of her brain. It’s been a few hours since then, but she can still clearly recall the way her heart dropped to her stomach when she first read through his messages.   
  
There are four other people in the group chat—Viola, Pascal, Tyro, and Sasza. She suspects those are not their true names; Draco himself, she saw, was consistently referred to as Abraxas. They run a dating website where they lure in lonely individuals who are desperate for romantic relationships and ask them for money which they, of course, won’t pay back as they claimed.   
  
She also found out that sometimes, they scam people in real life as well, having read about ‘ _ that one time when Abraxas seduced some old bitch from New York City _ ’, as they eloquently typed. And she only realises now the great possibility of Draco—is that even his real fucking name?—using her for money as well.    
  
Hermione doesn’t even know what’s real anymore!    
  
Thankfully, she can force out the truth from Draco or Abraxas or whoever the fuck is the man she’s been sleeping with for weeks. She almost gives in to her temper, but when she hears the familiar sound of his footsteps hesitantly approaching her, and she tells herself to calm down. For now.   
  
“Hey,” comes his uncertain greeting.    
  
She flinches at his voice but quickly recovers, patting the space beside her as a silent request for him to sit down. He takes the offered seat, looking at her with a confused frown upon his face. “We have a lot to talk about.”   
  
Draco carefully nods. “That’s what you told me earlier, yes. Care to elaborate on that?”   
  
Scowling at his impatient tone, Hermione pulls out his phone from her pocket. “I found something in here.”   
  
His frown deepens as he reaches for his phone, and she doesn’t put up a fight when he takes it from her hand. She doesn’t need the device any longer, for she already knows everything. “How did you find this?”   
  
“ _ I _ didn’t,” she answers truthfully. “It was Scorpius who knew where it was, and he wanted to use that one because apparently, that’s where all the games are.”   
  
“And? Why is my phone, of all things, the focus of our conversation?”   
  
“I know your secret,  _ Abraxas, _ ” she softly says, her eyes narrowing into a heated glare when he stiffens up at the name. “And don’t even try to deny it. I know everything.”   
  
“How?” he demands, his mouth contorting into a sneer. “You snooped through my phone and saw things you didn’t like, is that it? Haven’t you heard of privacy?”   
  
Hermione scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “For your information, I didn’t snoop around like some suspicious housewife! I accidentally tapped on one of the notifications and got redirected to your stupid little group chat!”   
  
“So you read every single message? This is some serious breach of—”   
  
“I admit, it’s wrong of me to stay on that app,” she begrudgingly accepts, “but I think I can get a pass since what you’re doing is illegal.”   
  
“It’s not—”   
  
“It’s not illegal? Really, Draco?” She raises a single brow, lips curving into a cruel smile. “Creating a dating site where you take on the identity of someone from a poor background and using your false grievances as a way to convince people—who may or may not be in love with you lot—to send you money—those things are not illegal? I thought you knew better than that.”   
  
“Yeah?” His eyes narrow dangerously. “Well, you know nothing about me!”   
  
“Clearly not! I thought you were a semi-decent person, at the very least—deeply-flawed, yes, but filled with good intention—and you just turned out to be another fuckboy with a criminal record!”   
  
He lets out a humourless chuckle. “Well, I’ve never been convicted, so you’re already wrong on that part.”   
  
Temper rises and erupts into full-blown fury inside her. “You’re proud of the fact that you’ve never been caught once in the hundreds of victims you’ve fooled? How did I ever convince myself to be with you?”   
  
“Victims?” He laughs bitterly again. “I know that you think the world is full of rainbows, second chances, and pure goodness, Granger, but those people we’ve scammed are bad people—really bad people who have immoral fetishes and fucked-up worldviews. Trust me when I say they’re better off without the money we’ve taken.”   
  
“Don’t try to justify your crimes!”   
  
“I’m not—” he cuts himself off with a frustrated growl. “We don’t scam everybody on that site, Granger. We specifically choose the bad ones and give them what they deserve. It’s like—listen, there was a time when we ‘borrowed money’ from an old wealthy couple. They once said that my friend’s son shouldn’t go to this elite school simply because of his race and status. They made this poor child experience racism at such a young age and for what? For nothing! I was angry. We were all angry. That’s why we stole money from them as revenge—because that’s what they deserve.”   
  
“Why?” she asks in a restrained shout. When he looks away from her and rubs his hand over his face, Hermione wrenches his arm away and forces him to look her in the eye. “Why do you think you’re the ones who should be giving out these sentences? Is this some weird God complex? You enjoy it when you have some kind of power over others, is that it?”   
  
“It’s not like—fuck!” He stands up, stomping to emphasise his frustration.   
  
“Explain to me why you think that you should be the one who gets to choose what people deserve or not! Explain your mindset because I cannot comprehend how a normal human being can choose something illegal to combat racism instead of—”   
  
“So, you think we should’ve just done nothing?”   
  
“No!” she yells, rising to her feet as well. “Do you think I don’t know what it feels like to be judged simply because of the colour of my skin? Trust me, I’ve dealt with racist arseholes before, and I know first-hand how degrading their words and actions can be, but that doesn’t mean I will ever let myself stoop to their level! If I was in that situation, I would’ve done something productive and impactful to make sure that child and many others will not experience such discrimination again! And that’s what you should’ve done instead of turning shallow and getting revenge by stealing money! How will that help in any way? I am so disappointed in you! I thought you were this—”   
  
“We can’t all be goody-goody two shoes like you, Granger!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in aggravation. “I know you have a heart of gold or whatever. I know you’re a genuinely good person, but sometimes, imperfect people like me simply cannot have the same flawless moral compass as you do. You can call me a criminal and all that, but I’ll continue to—”   
  
“Wait,” Hermione interrupts, putting up a hand to stop him. She wasn’t paying attention to his rant anyway. “Is that the real reason why you wanted to keep us a secret? Because of your scammer friends? Are you just… are you scamming me, too?”   
  
Draco’s eyes visibly widen, his head rapidly shaking from side-to-side in denial. “No, no. It’s not like that, I promise!”   
  
“And how many times are you going to break your promises?” she quietly asks, her wrath dying down and transforming into hurt. “You swore never to hurt me again, but… but simply thinking about this messed-up relationship being another game for you, another ploy, or another trick—it hurts, Draco. It really does.”   
  
“It’s not a game, Hermione,” he murmurs, the atmosphere growing softer as he moves closer to her, grabbing her hands and intertwining their fingers. She doesn’t know why she lets him do this, but she does. “You’re not—I’m not scamming you. I don’t want anything from you but your heart, and I know you know this.”   
  
He guides her hand on his chest, making sure her palm is resting against his heartbeat. Hermione sighs and shuts her eyes, letting the panicky rhythm of his heart wash over her soul. “Then, please explain.”   
  
“I only wanted to keep this relationship secret because…” he trails off, but she recognises the painful tone in his voice as regret. “Well, that thing about Scorpius is also true, but it runs way deeper than that. The main reason why I wanted to keep this relationship a secret is, I didn’t… I didn’t want you to finally figure out I’m a terrible person. It’s selfish, I know, but I feel something for you—something I’ve never felt with any women before.”   
  
When she opens her eyes, Hermione is taken aback by the unadulterated sincerity in Draco’s silver gaze, her heart melting at the sight of the unshed tears building up in his eyes. There’s something different in his expression, something she’s never seen before. She thought she’s seen him completely laid bare before, but she was wrong. There are more layers to him, and at this moment, she feels as though he’s finally peeling back his last and thickest layer to finally appear raw before her.   
  
“What is it?” she questions, swallowing the emotion in her throat. “What do you feel for me?”   
  
“It’s…” he attempts, momentarily getting caught in a daze. “It’s so difficult to put into words because this is the first time I’ve ever felt it, but it’s something real, something that won’t go away easily. It’s… I don’t want to lose you, okay? I… I didn’t want you to meet my friends because I was afraid of failing you. You’re this epitome of goodness, and I’m, well, me. I’m the guy who keeps defending his past crimes, and you’re so good that it hurts me sometimes—but it’s also inspiring, you know? I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I think being around you all the time has made me want to change for the better.”   
  
“I’m not that good of a person,” she counters, not daring to look away from his intense and emotional gaze. “Trust me, I’ve fucked up, too—so many times in my life, and you’re not a bad person; to be honest, I don’t even think there’s such a thing as pure good and pure evil. I think we’re all just trying to make the best of what’s happening. We’re all just a bunch of imperfect caricatures of gods, remember? Nothing more, nothing less.”   
  
Draco’s lips slightly curve up at her recapitulation of the words he uttered to her long ago, but she can tell he’s still far from being okay. “And I am trying. Although I was kind of defending it earlier, I’ve distanced myself from… criminal activities since—well, since that night I stumbled upon you crying over the state of the world. I don’t know what it is about you, but that night, something in me shifted. And all of a sudden, I feel obligated to improve the state of the world even just a little, so I tried to do more. Using the money we ‘borrowed’, I started donating to charities. Every week, I help out in the homeless shelters nearby. It’s not much; I just make sure they have masks and food and stuff. I realised that the way this country is handling COVID-19 is shit, and I saw that those who are homeless are suffering the most, and I’ve been in that kind of situation before, so I’m—”   
  
Removing her hand from his chest, Hermione moves it to his cheek, beaming up at him. “And you still think you’re a bad person?”   
  
He sighs, leaning into her touch as he brushes away his built-up tears. “I just know this situation is shitty for everyone, but I also some people do have it worse, so I’m just trying to help. I’m trying not to be a bad person, I guess.”   
  
“Well, I’m glad you’re trying,” she states truthfully, shrugging. “I’m just honestly trying to do the best I can, too.”   
  
He nods stiffly, frowning. “I’m sorry for hiding so much from you. This one is the last of my secrets, and I hope that despite my stupidity, you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. If not, then I guess… I have to say thank you for everything. You’re one of the best people that have ever come into my life, second only to Scorpius. So, thank you. Really. I… I appreciate you so much.”   
  
Her heart softens at his words, but she still needs to ask him one last thing. “Were you ever going to tell me about the scam thing?”   
  
“I was planning to leave completely this weekend, and I was honestly just waiting for the right time to tell you,” he admits, sighing. “I shouldn’t have waited, huh? I should’ve just quit. I should’ve just told you. I’m sorry about that, and I’m sorry for hurting you again. I can’t seem to stop fucking up, and I’m sorry; you deserve better.”   
  
“Draco.” Hermione sighs, breathing out his name like white smoke from her lips. “I don’t know what to do.”   
  
“I don’t want to tell you what to do,” he tells her, his face scrunched up in restrained heartache. “I want you to decide for yourself. Just know that I will always… I will always accept whatever it is that you’ll choose.”   
  
“I don’t want to leave you,” she whines, screwing her eyes shut and letting their foreheads touch. “The truth is, I’ve fallen in love with you, and even though you’ve hurt me, I can’t part from you. You and Scorpius have become my pillars, and I’m afraid that once I let go, I’ll just collapse again. With you, I’m whole, and I don’t ever feel like breaking into halves again. I want to be whole, Draco; I want to be whole with you.”   
  
His breath hitches, and for a terrifying second, she thinks he’ll walk away from her life. But then, her fears fade away with the sound of his deep, tearful voice. “I love you, too.”   
  
Thankfully, he loves her and doesn’t leave. Thankfully, he stays, leaning into her touch and clasping her other hand. He stays where she knows he belongs.    
  
Without a second thought, she captures his lips, surrendering to the tender emotions flowing between them as soft tears roll down her cheeks. His tears mesh with her own as he kisses her back, and the moment is so precious that it almost feels like a rebirth. A renaissance. A renewal.   
  
Her arms wrap around his neck, and his around her waist. Their mouths follow a torturous, languid pace as they move against each other, lips crashing and burning until her entire body is set aflame. His touch is a melting candle around her waist, but the way his tongue laps up her lips makes her want to drown in him, in his love and redemption.   
  
When their tongues meet, fireworks explode behind her closed lids, and it doesn’t take long before she’s forgotten about their last conversation, about the dried streaks of tears on both of their faces, and about the many issues they still badly need to resolve. Kissing Draco makes her lose her grip on reality—which is strange because he’s also the one that has kept her sane during her guilt-ridden nights of deep self-loathing.   
  
She nips on his tongue, coaxing a hiss from him, and feels the need to wonder if this is how true love feels like—if it’s as chaotic as the roller coaster that is her relationship with Draco, if it’s as hurtful and as easy to forgive. Is this true love? Is it the way she never wants to apologise to anyone, not even herself, for getting lost in his kiss and loving every bit of his flawed yet undeniably beautiful soul?   
  
He stumbles back on the settee, dragging her down to his lap and never daring to break apart from her lips. Hermione interprets his disinclination to let go of her and her lips as a silent reciprocation of her love. She understands that he feels as though he’s been given too many chances already, and a part of her feels the same way, but it’s simply not possible to give up on this—on the blazing pits of their love.   
  
At the moment, Hermione remains mostly undecided, but she does know for certain that she’s not going to leave him. For now, she’ll let their mouths and bodies do the talking. For now, she needs him. Badly.   
  
Her hands move to the jumper he wears, tugging at the fabric and silently asking him to take it off—to take  _ everything  _ off. She needs to feel his bare skin against her own.    
  
In utter desperation, she wrenches away from his lips and impatiently pulls of his jumper, slipping out of the shirt and baring her breasts for his feasting gaze. She only puts her mouth back on his when his hands cup her chest, caressing and fondling her until her soft moan vibrates against his lips.   
  
Gripping his shoulders, Hermione lets out another needy sound and grinds down her hips on him, aching to feel his erection against her pulsing core.   
  
His mouth travels to her jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses until he reaches her throat. He nips, licks, and sucks on her neck, painting red marks and sweet bruises across her delicate flesh. Her fingers entangle in his hair as he does so, muted cries falling out of her lips.   
  
Draco’s hands never stop their assault on her breasts. He continues to pinch her nipples ever-so-gently and massage her mounds in a way that makes her toes curl and her eyes roll back in pleasure. In response to his ministrations, Hermione slowly moves against his growing member. Every time she traces the outline of cock with her heated sex, she feels thick drops of her arousal gushing out of her slit, causing her to moan in utter bliss.   
  
When Draco feels the slight quickening of her hips, he graciously slides a hand into her shorts and cups her wet heat, his fingers strumming her clit until she’s panting.   
  
“Oh, fuck,” she unabashedly breathes when he begins stroking her slit and tapping her button. “Draco, please.”   
  
She almost throws a tantrum when he removes his hand, but she bites back the protest when he grips her hips and coerces her to turn around. Her body itching for more pleasure, Hermione faces away instantly but grabs his hand and shoves it back into her knickers.   
  
The chuckle he breathes in her ear almost goes unnoticed, too distracted by one of his fingers slightly dipping into her folds. As though testing the waters before diving in, Draco scoops up some of her wetness and spreads it across her slit before letting two of his fingers completely plunge inside her, his thumb furiously working to set fire on her clit.   
  
Hermione leans against him and rests her head on his shoulder as his hand performs magic on her dripping cunt, contributing only by thrusting against his hand and letting out the most pathetic whimpers.   
  
When Draco pinches her clit, she screams out and feels herself edging close to the finish line. She’s sure he realises this when his fingers, currently sloshing in and out of her, speed up in an unbearable rhythm. “Oh, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Draco, I’m—” He stops as she reaches the cliff and right before she makes a jump, and she’s left hanging, legs thrashing as she begs for him to finish her off. Covering her face with her hands, Hermione lets out incomprehensible pleas. “Please, please, please. Draco, please. I want to come, please. Draco. I need to come, please. Please, let me come.”   
  
He removes her hands from her face and kisses her on the cheek. “No.”   
  
She lets out a high-pitched whine and starts humping his stiff erection instead, trying to bring back the near-orgasm thrill.    
  
“We’ll come together,” he growls, gasping at her desperate movements above his member. “You and I are going to come together, and it’s going to be beautiful. Do you hear me?”   
  
Hermione bites her lower lip and nods, pleasurable tingles running up her spine at the mere thought. “I hear you.”   
  
“I love you, okay?” he mumbles near her ear, his tone uncertain as he pulls down her shorts and knickers.    
  
Her heart flutters at his words, and an appreciative smile spreads across her face. Shortly, she lifts her arse off his lap for a second, letting him pull down his own trousers and undergarments. “I love you, too.”   
  
Glancing down, she catches a glimpse of his hard, flushed dick and feels her smile grow bigger. Fascinated, she watches as his fingers wrap tightly around it, stroking it into its full length.    
  
Draco’s lips close around the shell of her ear. “Slide down for me, Hermione. Slowly.”   
  
Holding her breath, she turns her gaze in front of her and does what she’s told, bringing her hips down and slowly taking him inch by inch. She lets out a long moan when he’s finally buried inside her, wiggling her hips to further accommodate him.   
  
A hiss comes out of Draco’s mouth, and his hands clutch at her hips, his need for dominance and control never waning. His hands urge her to move above him, but he still controls their pace, never letting their rhythm accelerate. He’s always loved fucking her like this—like they have all the time in the world to get lost in every inch of each other’s skin, and she has never minded the slow-burning of frustration mixed with blinding bliss that crawls under her skin every time he thrusts up, his thick member stretching out her hot walls.   
  
But at the same time, she wants to come so badly that it’s beginning to hurt. The desire in her belly pulses so heavily, and she is starting to grow desperate; she wants to fuck him rougher, faster, and harder.    
  
“Draco, please, harder,” she begins to beg, her voice coming out as a needy whine. “Faster, please. I can’t take this anymore!”   
  
He acknowledges her words by digging his nails into her hips, releasing an animalistic sound next to her ear, and harshly pounds into her. Hermione cries out as she tries to follow the pace he’s set, grasping her jiggling breasts as she practically bounces on his cock. Bright flashes of neon colours appear before her eyes every time the tip of his length pokes at her most sensitive spot, and all she can do is bite back the whimpers and moans itching in her throat.    
  
When she begins to rotate her hips, Draco groans and quickens his thrusts, putting a hand between her legs.    
  
“Oh, God!” she yells helplessly as his fingers begin to toy with her clit—stroking, pinching, rubbing her until she forgets every other emotion that isn’t pleasure. His rough handling of her nub combined with the quick, rugged movements of his member inside her is enough to make her scream on top of her lungs.   
  
Her shrill scream has never been given a chance to be heard by the world though, muffled by Draco’s other hand, his quiet demands for her silence barely registering in her brain.   
  
She pulls at her nipples, desperate sounds coming out of her open mouth, attempting to both grind against Draco’s fingers and keep up with his heart-stopping rhythm. Her pleasure continues to escalate and surges through her entire body until even the pads of her fingers are sensitive to the touch. She is truly on fire now, and she never wants to be put out.   
  
Every single sensation just keeps building up and up until she’s—   
  
“ _ Oh, Draco. _ ” His name falls off her tongue as a drawn-out sigh, Her walls clamp tightly and blissfully around his member, and all of a sudden, he stops his thrusting and shivers below her, a pleasant warmth spreading inside her. She barely recognises his orgasm, too caught up in the intensity of her own climax.    
  
Collapsing against him, Hermione shuts her eyes as she quakes and trembles at the sheer force of her orgasm. Vaguely, she feels Draco’s lips leaving soft kisses on her jaw, his breaths as short as the panting puffs coming out of her lungs. A small smile pulling at the ends of her mouth, she leans into his kisses and uses the sound of his sped-up heartbeat to calm herself down and pull her back to reality.   
  
“I love you,” she mumbles, exhaustion tugging at her muscles.    
  
She feels his lips, pressed against her face, curve up into a smile, and for some reason, her heart melts at the mere gesture. “I love you, too.”   
  
Softly yawning, Hermione adjusts her position, regrettably letting his softening member slip out of her, and nestles into him. His arms wrap around her frame, kissing the top of her head while she buries her face into his neck and presses her lips on his pale skin. She lets his everlasting warmth encase her body and soul, the irresistible pulls of slumber slowly drawing her in.   
  
“What do we do now?” Draco’s voice breaks through her nearly-dreaming mind, his tone laced with a nervous kind of fear that strangely doesn’t suit him but comforts her all the same.   
  
She sighs for the last time, too tired to simultaneously think of the consequences of their actions and regret them. “I don’t know,” she admits, the uncertainty in her words matching his apprehensive tone.    
  
When morning comes, Hermione swears she’ll figure out what to do, but for now, it’s enough to simply lie in his arms and have a rest. Certainly, they will discuss the state of their relationship, their newfound feelings, and their mistakes tomorrow. Until then, however, it’s enough for her to be with Draco—to let their love flow freely between them as it should. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's the end! I hope you guys enjoy this! I think burnt myself out while writing this story, and I'm so glad that it's finally out! 
> 
> This month, we were asked to pick a genre on the Reedsy Plot Generator and write about whatever prompt was generated for us. The plot prompt I used for this story is: 
> 
> "Protagonist: A con artist who can be proud.  
> Secondary Character: An activist who has a heart of gold.  
> Plot: It’s an erotic romance about the complications of a secret relationship. It kicks off in a hotel with someone in the middle of some intense retail therapy.  
> Note that: a love triangle is non-existent in this story.  
> And there’s a twist! One of the protagonists has a child."
> 
> Do you think I executed the prompt well? I thought I would love writing this, but it's been a really difficult experience for me, and I'm going to stay away from ideas and concepts that will require 10k words or more for a while. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I hope I didn't waste your time with this little story! Have a nice day!
> 
> Paalam! :)


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